


Still Waters

by playswithworms



Series: Protectobot Beginnings [27]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Allusions to Suicide, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Graphic Description of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Tissue Warning, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4583382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playswithworms/pseuds/playswithworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe discovers there may be more to First Aid than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd meant to get more writing done on Astrogenesis in Project Resetverse, but real life has conspired against me. So, switching gears to Protectobot Beginningsverse to start posting this mostly-written fic instead! Started way back in 2008, then got sidetracked because I wanted to do a "quick" exploration of First Aid and his brothers, which turned into the whole Protectobot Beginnings series and ended up consuming several years. Doing my best to go through and retrofit everything to fit with my current headcanon, but not sure how well I succeeded. I blame any inconsistencies in characterization or events on those pesky space-time anomalies, yep ^_~

“Sideswipe.”

The name - his name - was all that was holding him steady for the moment. The world was tilting, spinning; he wanted to grab something to make it stop only he couldn’t seem to find his hands.

“Sideswipe?”

Again, that quiet voice. He had to work to hear it, through the roar that filled his audios. Focus. There. Not far away. Not enemy. Don’t shoot this one, he thought, and simultaneously, with a thrill of horror, realized that he couldn’t shoot anyway. Weapons status: offline. Bad bad bad – he was so slaggin’ toast…

“Sideswipe, you’re ok. You’re in the medbay.”

Medbay. No wrestling or shouting allowed in the medbay…was he in trouble? Where was…the other one…yellow… Panic set in. Everything was too bright, he couldn’t see. His spark groped blindly and frantically for its other half. Where! Where was….

“Sunstreaker is right here. He’ll be fine. Can you hear me?”

Sunstreaker. The air left his vents in a gasping sob of relief. Near. He could feel his brother now, presence faint but undeniable. Another anchor to put the world back in its place. Pain was growing as well, but he welcomed it. It mapped out his body, giving it shape again. He had hands; they were gripping something tight enough to make his joints ache.

Sideswipe clenched his jaw as his head gave a sharp throb, but as it did so the blur of light and color in front of him suddenly focused. The helm in front of him was red and white, not yellow. He was close enough to see bright blue optics behind the visor, calm and steady and watching him intently.

He knew who this was, but it took awhile for the name to come. “Aid?” he managed finally.

“Yep,” was the cheerful, if somewhat breathless reply. “Back with us?”

“You got him, Aid?” Another voice…who?...Ratchet. That was Ratchet’s voice, from somewhere not too far away. 

“More like he’s got me.” The last word was more a cough than spoken, but the optics in front of Sideswipe crinkled into a slight smile.

“Here, let me give you a hand, kid.” Ironhide. Sideswipe was relieved as his processor identified the familiar voice with no delays. First Aid’s optic ridges drew together in a small, puzzled frown as Sideswipe felt strong arms lifting him from behind. 

“Just hold still a klik….” Ironhide grunted as he pulled the damaged frontliner up, and only then did Sideswipe realize he’d been pinning First Aid to the floor. Sideswipe bit back a yelp of pain as he briefly tried to put weight on his right leg, but then Ironhide lifted again. It was an effort to do so with his battle protocols still clamoring at him, but Sideswipe forced himself go limp and relax as the burly weapon’s master rolled him neatly onto a nearby berth, pushing a toppled energon transfusion unit out of the way as he did so. Sideswipe felt a short twinge as Ironhide pulled out the torn energon transfusion line sticking out from his arm. The weapons master moved stiffly, and Sideswipe could see the dried energon from a roughly patched injury on his side.

“I’ll let First Aid put in a new one for ya,” Ironhide said gruffly, as he tried to get the energon transfusion unit upright again. “He’ll do a prettier job of it.”

Sideswipe turned his head and felt his battle protocols gear down a few more notches as he saw the familiar yellow form of his brother, on the repair berth next to him. Ah yes. The stopover for supplies at Karkas III had turned into an ambush. There had been a battle, and now they were back on the Ark in the medbay. Things were making more sense now. Sunstreaker was offline, looking rather scorched around the edges, but he appeared to be otherwise intact.

Ironhide followed his glance. “Don’t you worry about Sunny now,” he said, patting Sideswipe’s shoulder reassuringly. “He took a couple of nasty jolts from those Karkan electro-grenades, but he’ll wake up his usual jolly self, especially once he gets a good look at his paint job.” 

Ratchet looked up briefly from the prone form he was tending at the other end of the medbay, scanning the room in a quick assessment of the injured mechs before turning back to his current patient. “First Aid, what are you doing over there, taking a recharge nap?” he snapped irritably.

Sideswipe watched as Ironhide turned to look behind him on the floor next to his berth, and then blinked as the red mech dropped abruptly out of sight.

“Ratchet! Over here NOW!” At the panicked bellow from Ironhide, Sideswipe struggled to sit up, but had to settle for curling painfully on his side to peer over the edge of his berth. What he saw nearly stopped his spark cold. First Aid lay still on the floor, visor dark, as Ironhide hovered over him frantically. Sideswipe stared as Aid’s body arched in a weak convulsion, his engine revving and then faltering with an awful gurgling sound.

Things had stopped making sense again. His dazed CPU still struggling to explain what he was seeing, Sideswipe watched numbly as Ratchet skidded abruptly around the corner of his berth. Ratchet took one look at the stricken junior medic and dropped to his knees beside him, letting loose a string of processor-blistering oaths.

“Ratchet, we need to get him on a berth…” Ironhide began.

“Slaggit, ‘Hide, there’s no _time_ ,” the medic gritted as he unceremoniously yanked open First Aid’s chest plating. A veritable river of energon poured out, and Ratchet froze for a moment, whispering a shocked “Primus…” before he plunged his hands inside the apprentice medic’s open chest and abdomen.

“Energon transfusion, as many lines as you can get in him,” Ratchet ordered. Ironhide was already in motion as Ratchet continued to belt out instructions. “Full life support unit – frag! He’s been _speared_ somehow – someone call for backup to the medbay!”

“We’re on it, Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus’ calm voice came from the medbay door, where he’d arrived to have his minor injuries tended. “Carry on.”

Sideswipe curled up tighter on his berth, shivering helplessly as he watched Ironhide and Ratchet in their frenzied attempt to save the junior medic. Ratchet’s hands moved in a furious dance, optics narrowed in desperate concentration as all the while he continued his stream of invectives, threats, instructions to Ironhide, along with promises to inflict dire punishment on First Aid for managing to get damaged in the middle of the _fragging medbay_ for Primus’ sake, and if Aid thought he was going to go through all the trouble of finding another medic well he had better forget it, because there was NO WAY he was going through the trouble of training anyone else…

”Do you hear me, Aid?” Ratchet paused a moment to lean over and speak directly into the audios on the red helm. “We need you. You stay with us, don’t you DARE give up. We still need you here.”

Had he caused this somehow? Everything next to him was happening far too quickly, but Sideswipe’s thoughts felt muted, slow. Apparently he had woken up as First Aid was working on him and tackled him…but…that much damage…how the Pit? First Aid was not a fighter, but he was built to be a battlefield medic – his armor was nearly as tough as Ironhide’s. It certainly wouldn’t the first time Aid had been knocked around by a disoriented patient, and he always bounced back up, none the worse for wear. Sideswipe had seen him take a near miss by a blast earlier in the battle; First Aid had curled up like an armadillotron and tumbled nearly an entire span, and then uncurled and continued on his path to another injured mech without skipping a beat. Sideswipe checked again – his weapons were definitely offline, he couldn’t have fired them, so how….

Ratchet and Ironhide were rolling First Aid carefully but swiftly onto his side. A short length of glowing blue metal protruded at a flat angle from the armor in the junior medic’s lower back. Ratchet did something that caused the spear to spark and then go dark, wisps of smoke rising from the exposed length. Ironhide grasped the end and twisted it slightly, until Ratchet said “there,” and then began to delicately pull it out.

“Stop,” Ratchet ordered, and Ironhide paused, holding the piece of metal steady, his optics pinched with worry and concentration. Ratchet, who was now lying on his side on the floor next to First Aid, activated a small saw, and Sideswipe winced at the tortured screech of the saw slicing through metal.

“Ok, nice and easy, all the way out,” Ratchet instructed. As Ironhide smoothly removed part of the long slender spear from Aid’s back, Ratchet pulled a smaller piece, trailing more smoke from one end, from First Aid's open chest and tossed it quickly to the side. Sideswipe blinked in recognition. One of the Karkan energy spears! They were equipped with some sort of armor-piercing force field at the tip, dismayingly effective even at long range. One had been embedded in his leg. He remembered hazily trying to yank it out sometime during the battle, but it had hurt too much and he had ended up just leaving it there.

Ratchet and Ironhide gently rolled First Aid onto his back again, and Ratchet immediately returned his hands and welders to repairing the catastrophic damage the spear had left behind. Ironhide was in constant motion as well, attaching lines and monitors, until he finally knelt next to Ratchet.

“I’ve got four transfusion lines in him – what else?”

“See if you can get a few more in.” Ratchet’s voice was tight with strain. “It breached his spark chamber….” 

Sideswipe could see that the motionless apprentice was now lying in an expanding pool of energon, and he had to shutter his optics for a moment as a wave of sick dizziness rushed over him. Normally he was the last mech to be bothered by the sight of a little spilled energon – Primus knew he spilled enough of it himself – but this was not a Decepticon leaking to death on the medbay floor.

It wasn’t like First Aid was a close friend or anyone in particular. He was just...there, always, in the background, quietly working, rarely venturing out of the medbay when they were on the Ark, engrossed in all sorts of tedious projects whenever they stopped at a new planet for supplies or the possibility of negotiating an alliance. Sideswipe tended to think of him as an extension of Ratchet, like his welder or laser scalpel. He had tried once to prank the junior medic, gluing him to one of the medbay walls with some pilfered adhesive. First Aid had offered up no resistance, just gone along with it quietly, with slightly bemused good humor. Where was the fun in that? Ratchet’s reaction had made it all worthwhile though, even if he still had a crick in his back from hand-scrubbing the medbay floors with a dental cleansing unit. Sideswipe knew he was walking the edge of deactivation by provoking Ratchet, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. Ratchet was magnificent when he was in full throttle. And Ratchet might be a medic, but Sideswipe had seen him in battle, where he’d earned even Sunstreaker’s grudging respect.

First Aid, on the other hand…he didn’t even carry a weapon, wouldn’t even touch one for Primus’ sake. The one time he’d tried to toss First Aid a rifle so he could defend himself, he’d simply let it clatter to the ground, and the dressing down he’d gotten from Ironhide later on for that one still made his audials burn. The little red-and-white medic was utterly dull and boring, boxy and slow, not even worth the trouble of pranking. They didn’t have a single thing in common…and none of that explained why waves of guilt and sorrow kept washing through his circuits. Somehow, he knew it in his spark. This was his fault.

“Jazz and Ultra Magnus have the other patients in hand. Everyone is stable for now,” Ironhide rumbled softly as he returned with more transfusion lines, and opened another panel on First Aid’s arm to begin attaching them. The poor medic was covered with so many tubes and sensors he looked like he was being devoured by medical machinery gone mad. “How’s he doing?”

Sideswipe couldn’t hear Ratchet’s reply, but the slight drooping of Ironhide’s shoulders was not encouraging. He heard the second part of what Ratchet said though. “Go ahead and put Sunstreaker in restraints for now, until he wakes up. We don’t need a repeat of this.” A touch on his shoulder made him jump, and Sideswipe looked up to see Ultra Magnus standing over him. 

“You need further repairs, Sideswipe,” the Ark commander said in his calm, deep voice, although Sideswipe did not miss his worried glance over the edge of the berth where Ratchet and Ironhide were still working on First Aid. “Roll over, soldier, so I can get a better look. I’m not a trained medic, but I can patch you up somewhat.”

Sideswipe hesitated. He had no reason not to trust Ultra Magnus -- he’d been strict, but fair, during the nearly two vorns under his command, even when he and Sunstreaker had admittedly pushed the rules to the limit and then some. Ultra Magnus didn’t seem angry, even though Sideswipe might have just deactivated a member of his crew (Sideswipe still wasn’t entirely sure how). Ratchet he trusted. First Aid, too, he realized, a little surprised looking back by how little he’d even thought about it, but...medbays had not always been good places. Old habits died hard. Ultra Magnus waited patiently until Sideswipe complied, rolling to his back and staring up at the ceiling, trying not to flinch as the commander examined the damage to his side and leg. 

“It appears First Aid already sealed up the worst leaks, but I’ll see if I can clean it up a bit more and get your energon levels back up, if that’s acceptable.”

Asking permission, even. The commander offering to do basic repairs on a frontline soldier with his own hands. Sideswipe still had trouble getting used to it. He nodded, throwing one arm up to shade his optics. The glare of the overhead lights seemed like it was burning right into his processor. He felt shaky and overheated, the familiar sensation of his self-repair trying to rev up into high gear now that his battle protocols were convinced there were no immediate threats.

“You did well down there, Sideswipe,” Ultra Magnus said as he put in a new energon transfusion line and began straightening broken and tangled wiring with surprising gentleness. “I must admit I had my doubts at first, despite Prime’s endorsement. It takes one incorrigible scoundrel to know another, apparently.”

Sideswipe blinked at that. Had Ultra Magnus just called Optimus Prime a...scoundrel? 

“Without you and your brother…” Ultra Magnus’s voice trailed off as several of the monitors on the floor that were hooked up to First Aid began beeping ominously. Sideswipe scooted back over to the edge of the berth, ignoring the commander’s sound of protest.

Ratchet was watching the monitors with the intensity of a cyberhawk as he administered a series of low-intensity shocks to First Aid’s spark chamber. “Come on,” he whispered. One of the monitors stopped beeping for a few moments, and Ratchet paused, looking up hopefully. The beeping resumed more urgently than before, and Ironhide made a small despairing noise as he picked up one of First Aid’s limp hands and cradled it gently. 

“Sideswipe,” Ultra Magnus said firmly, tugging at Sideswipe’s shoulder until he was flat on the berth again. “Rest. I’m sure he’ll be….” Ultra Magnus shook his head, not meeting Sideswipe’s optics as he went back to working on his leg. 

Sideswipe wanted to protest, but could only stare again at the ceiling, as the aching brightness of the lights began to blur in time with the beeping of the monitors, until they faded together into darkness and silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Sideswipe awoke to the almost comforting feeling of hot rage, pricking through his consciousness. Sunstreaker was NOT HAPPY. Sideswipe turned his helm to meet his brother’s burning blue glare and felt something in his spark ease.

Sunstreaker tugged once, sharply, at the magnetic restraints on his wrists and legs, and Sideswipe thought he could feel the jolt all the way through his own berth. “Let. Me. Up. NOW.”

Sideswipe started to struggle over close enough to reach the closest restraint, but was stopped by a half-sparked thwop to his shoulder.

“You. Don’t move.” 

Ratchet moved stiffly around to Sunstreaker’s side and started deactivating the restraints, keeping a prudent distance once Sunstreaker was free. “How are you feeling?”

Sunstreaker growled in reply, and started rubbing at the smears left by the restraints on his scored and soot-streaked arms. “You _tied me up._ ” His baleful glare at Ratchet was deeply betrayed.

“Hmph. Well, sorry about that. We had to take some…precautions.” Sideswipe felt his insides clench again as memory returned. He had killed First Aid and now Ratchet would hate him. This couldn’t be made better by a wrench to the helm, although Sideswipe suspected Ironhide had just been yanking his chain about the rumored accuracy of Ratchet’s throwing arm.

“Ratchet….” Sideswipe made himself meet the medic’s exhausted gaze. “I’m just…I’m so unbelievably sorry. I didn’t mean to…” his voice trailed off at Ratchet’s completely baffled expression. Ratchet stared at him a moment, faceplates furrowed in confusion, and then his optic ridges rose in sudden understanding.

“Sideswipe, this wasn’t your fault,” Ratchet said firmly. “If anything it was mine for not having the proper safety precautions in place.”

“How?” Sideswipe wailed, and Sunstreaker stopped his futile arm polishing to stare at him in astonishment. “How is it not my fault Ratchet? It’s because of me that he’s deactivated and…”

“Wait! Whoa whoa whoa, hold on,” Ratchet waved his hands reassuringly. “Sideswipe, he’s not deactivated.”

Sideswipe, stopped at the beginning of what could only be described as a full-blown meltdown of uncharacteristic self-recrimination, could only gulp helplessly for several moments. Ratchet quirked one optic ridge finally and, with a faint half smile, pointed to the other side of Sideswipe’s berth. Sideswipe leaned over cautiously, long enough to see First Aid still on the floor, still covered with sensors and blinking monitors and tubes and wires, with Ironhide propped up against the wall nearby and dozing in a light recharge.

“He’s not out of danger yet, by any means, but he’s been holding steady for the past half joor.” Ratchet rubbed at his optics wearily. “I haven’t moved him yet. I just…I don’t want to chance it. Now. Sideswipe. Lie back down please and let me check these welds.”

“Will someone tell me what is going on,” Sunstreaker said a little plaintively.

//I nearly deactivated First Aid// Sideswipe told him through their bond.

//Who?// Sunstreaker craned his neck a little, but couldn’t see the injured medic over Sideswipe’s berth.

Sideswipe rolled his optics. Sunstreaker, not so much for remembering names. //You know. The little red-and-white guy. Helps out in the medbay//

//Oh. _Him_ // Sideswipe blinked at the complex mix of emotions that accompanied Sunstreaker’s thought, but his brother buried them away before he could get a good grasp of them.

Ratchet sighed as he began examining Sideswipe’s injuries. His voice was hoarse with static, strangely quiet and gentle as he explained, almost as if he had taken on First Aid’s manner of speaking while the junior medic was offline.

“Sideswipe woke up rather…abruptly…while First Aid was fixing him and, as far as we can tell, managed to knock Aid directly on to the energy spear he’d pulled out of Sideswipe’s leg. Slagging thing hit at precisely the wrong angle, went through his armor like it wasn’t there and skewered him right through the middle.” Ratchet shook his head. “It hit pretty much every vital part it could hit along the way, including his spark chamber. I’ve done all I can for now, but even if…when...he wakes up….” Ratchet paused a moment to look down at the damaged medic on the floor pensively. “First Aid has some previous…injuries that might complicate things.”

//That’s why you’re freaking out?// Sunstreaker sent to his brother.

//I’m _not_ freaking out// Sideswipe retorted.

//Yeah right. And I’m a medic in training// Sunstreaker was watching Ratchet intently, the smudges on his armor apparently forgotten. “He’ll be alright, won’t he, Ratchet?”

Ratchet glanced back up in surprise at the golden twin’s question. Sunstreaker expressing concern for a fellow Autobot? One that wasn’t Sideswipe? Sideswipe was surprised as well, not so much for the concern - more went on in his brother’s processor than anyone not spark-linked with him would ever guess - but that Sunstreaker had thought to ask it out loud.

“We’ll just have to wait and see. It’s up to him now. But it was _not_ in any way, shape, or form your fault, Sideswipe, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.” Ratchet glared threateningly, sounding much more like himself. “It was a freak accident, a one in a million chance, and I’ll be taking steps to make sure that chance never happens again. Got it?”

Sideswipe looked down and nodded. “Well, next time, tie me up or drug me or whatever you have to do. And that goes for the crazy psychopath, too.”

Sunstreaker’s optics flared a cold and dangerous blue, and he scooted over so he could kick his twin repeatedly on his undamaged leg. Sideswipe tried to retaliate by reaching down to grab his brother’s leg, but yelped as the motion strained the fresh welds on his injury. He swatted futilely at Sunstreaker’s just-out-of reach upper half with one arm until Ratchet’s bellowed “Enough!” stopped them both (and every other inhabitant of the medbay) in their places.

The brothers stared with wide optics as Ratchet heaved air through his vents and clenched and unclenched his hands several times. Ironhide clambered up from his spot on the floor with a sleepy groan, and shifted his cannons meaningfully, the motion saying louder than words that he was not in the mood to put up with this slag from them right now.

//No shouting in the medbay, I think Ratchet just broke his own rule// Sunstreaker observed dryly, while Sideswipe struggled to keep from giggling, an act that would no doubt result in Instant Decapitation, either by way of Ratchet’s laser scalpel or Ironhide’s cannons.

“You,” Ratchet said finally, pointing to Sunstreaker, voice clipped and precise, “will leave now. Go wash or polish, or whatever it is you do. Refuel and recharge, in that order. Off duty for the next six cycles, then see me for a recheck. If you notice any electrical glitches contact me or return to the medbay immediately. And you,” he continued, turning to Sideswipe with a hint of a growl, “will lay on this berth without moving or speaking or so help me, I will teach you the true meaning of the phrase ‘to recharge like the dead.’ Am I clear?”

//Don’t let me say it, Sunny// Sideswipe sent as he nodded rapidly. It was dumb, it was stupid, it was annoying and not even remotely clever, and...he was going to say it anyway. “Yes, Ratchet, I can see right through you.” //Oh Pit. I’m going to die now. It’s been nice knowin’ ya, bro//

Ratchet, however, simply stood for a long moment, looking at Sideswipe with complete lack of expression on his face, as if he had forgotten how to move or think.

//I’m outa here// Sunstreaker sent uneasily, as he slid off his berth and edged out the door. //Good luck, fraghead!//

//Go smelt yourself// Sideswipe returned, shifting a little as Ratchet continued his motionless stare, trying to ignore how much colder the medbay felt without Sunstreaker there. Ironhide stepped carefully around First Aid and all of the medical support equipment on the floor, with a quelling frown at Sideswipe, and waved a hand in front of Ratchet’s face.

“Ratchet?” Ironhide said cautiously. “Hey, time for fuel and recharge. I’ll keep an eye on this idiot for awhile.” Ratchet finally looked at Ironhide, air cycling through his vents in a long sigh.

“First Aid’s still too unstable,” he said. “I’m fine.” Sideswipe blinked as it became apparent that Ratchet was just too tired to yell or threaten him anymore. For the first time he noticed that there was dried energon all along Ratchet’s side from where he had been lying in it on the floor, and that the medic was leaning against his berth as if it was the only thing keeping him upright, his optics flickering with exhaustion.

“Ratchet…” he said, ignoring Ironhide’s warning glare, “go ahead and get some rest. I’m sorry. Again. I know you’re worried about First Aid. I’ll behave, I promise.” Sideswipe looked up at Ratchet earnestly, trying to keep nothing but sincere contrition in his expression. It was easier than he expected, probably because he meant it.

Ratchet eyed him suspiciously, and then one optic ridge rose slightly as Ratchet snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Here,” Ironhide walked around and patted the empty berth next to First Aid invitingly. “At least lie down for a few moments. You can still keep an eye on him, and I’ll get us both some energon.”

After another check of the other patients in the medbay, and a few adjustments to the monitors hooked up to First Aid, Ratchet at last let himself be coaxed into downing a cube of energon and to lie down “just for a moment” on the recharge berth. He was recharging almost before his helm hit the berth.

Luckily for Ratchet’s continued sanity, Sideswipe’s own injuries kept him from testing his resolve on his promise to behave. The last thing he remembered was fighting the tempting urge to “accidentally” poke Ironhide in the skidplate - it was right there! Right at optic level! And Sideswipe was injured so odds were Ratchet might even protect him. Now _that_ would be worth risking Ironhide’s cannons to see, and Ironhide had put too much work into him and Sunstreaker to actually deactivate them. Sideswipe was pretty sure. But the overheating from his self-repair systems was making him tired, it was too much effort to lift his arm; it was too heavy, so heavy it was sinking…sinking… 

When Sideswipe woke up again, wincing at the bright glare of the lights (seriously, whose idea had it been to outfit the Ark medbay with the light of a thousand supernovas?) and the dull ache in his leg, Ratchet was gone from the neighboring berth and First Aid had been moved there in his place, which Sideswipe took as a good sign. The medic still looked like slag warmed over, though. His face mask was retracted, strange to see – Sideswipe had never seen his face without it, or the sturdy visor that still covered his optics. It was a pleasant face; nothing fancy or optic-catching like Sunstreaker’s, but nice enough to look at. A little trickle of dried energon still remained where it had leaked from one corner of his mouth. Despite what Ratchet had said, Sideswipe still felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt at the sight of the motionless junior medic. Or not so motionless. Sideswipe sat up to look more closely as First Aid stirred slightly.

“Ratchet? Hey Ratchet…Ironhide?” Sideswipe called, wondering where they both were. He didn’t think they would have left First Aid’s side. He was about to try the comm. when a faint sound attracted his attention, and he looked down to see Ratchet and Ironhide sitting on the floor next to his berth, both in recharge. Ratchet had his head tilted back against the side of the berth, mouth slightly open, while Ironhide had slumped over until he was almost in Ratchet’s lap.

Sideswipe snickered softly to himself and debated whether he should wake them up or take an image capture first. Before he could figure out how to get a good angle without falling of his berth, however, Ratchet gave a small start as one of the monitors hooked up to First Aid sent him an alert. He jumped a second time as his optics came online and he noticed Sideswipe peering at him.

“Ugh,” he muttered, as he pushed Ironhide over onto the floor. “What are you looking at?”

“Just what were you two doing down there anyway?” Sideswipe gave Ratchet a leering smirk as the medic laboriously got to his feet.

Ratchet ignored him, all of his concentration on his patient. “Well, now. This is promising.” Ratchet smiled to himself as he checked First Aid’s vital signs.

“Ironhide, hey. Get your aft up here,” Ratchet kicked at Ironhide’s frame a few times. Ironhide mumbled something unintelligible, and then suddenly shot to his feet in alarm, cannons at the ready. “What! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. He’s trying to wake up.”

“Already? That’s great!” Ironhide powered down his cannons and grinned at Ratchet in relief as he picked up one of First Aid’s hands and began patting it with rough affection. “Aid, hey kid. Can you hear me?”

So old Rusty Hide had a soft side, Sideswipe mused, surprised by the strength of concern Ironhide had been displaying for the junior medic. Who would’ve guessed. Probably First Aid was Ironhide and Ratchet’s secret luuve sparkling he thought, snickering to himself. Ha! That was a good one. He’d have to remember to tell Sunstreaker later.

“Aah! Hey, kid, put the welder away!”

Sideswipe looked over to see Ironhide ducking as First Aid aimlessly waved the hand Ironhide had been holding with his built-in welder fully activated. Ratchet deftly caught First Aid’s arm and held it a safe distance from Ironhide.

“Sideswipe,” First Aid mumbled drowsily.

“Heh, Sideswipe wakes up fighting, Aid wakes up fixing!” Ironhide chuckled. “Not sure who’s more dangerous.”

“It’s ok, Aid, Sideswipe’s been repaired. Put your welder away,” Ratchet soothed. First Aid made an inquiring sound, and there was a faint whir as the welder transformed neatly back into place.

“You had a little accident, Aid. How are you feeling?” Ratchet asked. Ironhide moved in closer now that he was no longer in imminent danger of being “repaired.”

“...ow?” First Aid breathed softly.

Ironhide winced a little in sympathy. “Well, shoulda thought of that before you decided to go all shish kebob on us, kid. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Mm….bad?” First Aid’s voice was a barely heard whisper.

Ironhide met Ratchet’s optics briefly. “Ah…let’s just say you haven’t lost yer knack for testing out every known injury on yourself first.”

“Including a few unknown injuries, in this case,” Ratchet added. “I think you invented some new ones.” First Aid made a puzzled noise. “We’ll tell you later, Aid, don’t worry about it. Just lie still while we check you over, ok?”

First Aid’s head tilted slightly and his visor flickered a few times as he focused on Ratchet. “Hey, stop that!” Ratchet gave a gentle tap to his injured assistant’s shoulder. “No scanning or I’ll deactivate your diagnostics. You’re a patient right now, not a medic.”

“Racht…should rest.”

“Go ahead and recharge if you’re tired, Aid.”

“No, no…. _you_ rest,” Aid protested weakly.

“What part of ‘you are the patient’ do you not understand?” Ratchet said in mock-annoyance. “And I’ve had plenty of rest, thank you very much.”

“Mm, right.” First Aid was clearly not convinced. “…Sideswipe?”

“He’s fine. He’s right over there, Aid,” Ironhide pointed, and Sideswipe waved even though First Aid probably couldn’t see him. “Everyone’s fine, kid. Stop worrying.”

“Sun…”

“Sunstreaker’s fine too,” Ratchet cut him off in exasperation.

“Sideswipe’s optics…did you check…”

“That does it!” Ratchet growled, and he removed an injector from a cache in his side and injected something into one of First Aid’s energon transfusion feeds.

“Whoa…”

“That should shut down your repair protocols for awhile,” Ratchet said with a smug grin.

Ironhide chuckled as First Aid made a woozy humming sound.

“Hey, how come you never give me the good stuff?” Sideswipe protested.

Ratchet snorted. “Because I’ve heard you sing, that’s why.”

Right on cue, First Aid started singing, faint and a little wavery, but surprisingly sweet and in tune. “Fly…fly me over the moons of Cybertron…”

Sideswipe gaped as Ratchet joined in, singing words to a song he recognized from a sappy romance holo vid, popular from before he was ever sparked. “I’ll orbit you forever ‘till my spark is gone…” Even as he sang in a low, rather off-key voice, Ratchet never paused in his careful scanning of First Aid’s vital signs.

Aid stopped and laboriously lifted one hand to Ratchet’s arm with a lopsided, goofy smile visible on his unmasked face. “Raatchet…”

“Yes?” Ratchet paused, smiling down at the drugged-up junior medic.

“You can’t sing at all, Ratchet…” The smile slowly faded, to be replaced by a puzzled, wistful look. “I don’t sing much anymore, do I?”

“No, not so much anymore,” Ratchet replied softly, one hand gently stroking First Aid’s helm a few times. On the next berth Sideswipe pouted a little. Ratchet never stroked _his_ helm when he was hurt and in the medbay. “It’s all right though. You don’t need to worry about it. Why don’t you take a rest, hmm? You’ve had a rough cycle.”

“Okey dokey,” First Aid sighed contentedly, smiling happily again. “Be sure to wake me…for my shift…’kay? ’Night…’Hide…” he mumbled, then sighed deeply once more and went still as he dropped into recharge.

“Cheeky sparkling, bet you think I can’t manage for two breems without you, don’t you?” Ratchet’s voice was soft and tender, and Sideswipe fought another surge of jealousy at the expression on Ratchet’s face. Not that _he_ wanted to be looked at in such a sappy fashion, or be called a _sparkling_ , for Pit’s sake, even if his chronometer said he was still shy of his first 10,000 vorns. There hadn’t been many actual sparklings on Cybertron for a long time, anyway, even before Vector Sigma had been destroyed.

“He doesn’t bounce back from this sort of thing like he used to, does he,” Ironhide murmured, some old sadness in his optics.

“No. He’s not out of danger yet.” Ratchet sighed. “Wheeljack will be devastated if I don’t bring him home in one piece. I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Not to mention the other five airheads,” Ironhide said wryly, a note of fondness in his voice. “I’m sorta surprised they haven’t flown all the way from Cybertron to come pounding on the hull, demanding to see him.”

“Wheeljack was working on that, actually, before we left. Figuring out a way to upgrade them for interplanetary flight. I wish they were here,” Ratchet said. He laughed shortly, sounding surprised at himself. “The Ark wouldn’t have survived the first deca-orn, but I wish they were here, all of them, and not just for Aid’s sake. Primus save me.”

Ironhide chuckled. “If the Ark can survive my two spawns from the Pit, it can survive anything.” Sideswipe raised his head to glare at Ironhide. He and Sunstreaker belonged to no one. They were their _own_ spawns from the Pit, even if they were technically still under Ironhide’s guardianship until the end of their probation period.

“I still don’t like the look of his spark energy levels,” Ratchet said, sounding worried, “although with his level of spark trauma, who knows….” Ironhide left off smirking back at Sideswipe to cross his arms and frown at the monitors, though Sideswipe was fairly sure he had as little idea what it all meant as Sideswipe did.

Ratchet and Ironhide continued to hover over First Aid and watch his monitors anxiously for the rest of the cycle, in between checking on the four other patients with damages severe enough to keep them in the medbay. Sideswipe, remembering his earlier promise, made heroic efforts not to succumb to boredom and do something drastic. Preferably something loud. Or messy. Or both.

Ultra Magnus stopped by to see how the remaining patients were doing, giving everyone a few encouraging words and speaking to Ratchet and Ironhide for several breems. Jazz came by later as well, breaking the tedium for awhile with his easy company, but after Jazz left Sideswipe resigned himself to counting the stains and dents on the ceiling in between wincing at the lights, and listening to the faint rasping sounds of First Aid’s air vents. Sideswipe looked over at Ratchet mournfully, hoping he would notice how not causing of trouble he was being, but Ratchet was immersed in adjusting one of the machines hooked up to First Aid. Just went to show you what playing nice and following the rules got you, Sideswipe thought in disgust. Ignored. Somewhere between watching Ratchet and trying to figure out if that splotch on the ceiling was shaped more like Brawn’s faceplate or Ironhide’s aft, he fell into recharge. When he awoke again, Sideswipe could hear the sound of a soft murmured conversation at the next berth; apparently First Aid was awake, too.

“Next time we’ll use the magnetic restraints.” Ratchet’s voice.

“But they hurt themselves,” came First Aid’s soft protest. Sideswipe had to dial up his audios to hear him. “Last time Sideswipe nearly pulled his own arm off.”

Sideswipe frowned. He vaguely remembered that. The restraints had thrown him back to one of the dark places, immobilized, helpless, while…Sideswipe shivered and resolutely veered his processor away from thinking about it.

“Sedatives then,” Ratchet was saying. “Or neuro paralyzers.”

“But they’re not appropriate in a lot of cases. And it’s harder to assess injuries if…”

“Aid, I mean it. This was too close.”

“It was a fluke. A one in a million…”

“One in a million is one too many.”

“I wish you would go get some rest, Ratchet. I’m all right.”

“You’re not all right. You’ve been babbling deliriously for the last ten breems.”

“I’m babbling?”

“Yes, you’re babbling.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Sideswipe’s awake now, can you check his optics?”

Ratchet sighed. “Sideswipe’s still recharging, and that makes the fifth time you’ve asked about his optics since you woke up.”

“Really? I’m sorry, that must be annoying. I’ll stop doing that, ok, Ratchet? But photon damage sometimes doesn’t show up until later so we should check…”

“I know, Aid.” Ratchet’s voice was tired, but patient. “I’ll check when he’s awake.”

“I’m awake,” Sideswipe volunteered, rolling over on one side and giving Ratchet a cheeky grin. First Aid still looked like slag, he noted, hooked up to a veritable tentacle beast of medical equipment. First Aid tried to lift his head to look over at him, and Ratchet put a restraining hand on his chestplates.

“Optics…Ratchet.”

Ratchet sighed again. “Ok, Aid, I’ll check them. You promise to hold still though.”

“k…” faintly.

Ratchet came and shined a small light in Sideswipe’s optics.

“Does that hurt?” he asked.

“Nope, it’s fine,” Sideswipe answered, though the light left blazing trails of blue and yellow in its wake. He clenched his fist as his head gave another one of those sharp throbs in response, but his optics felt fine even though he couldn’t really see anything other than the path of Ratchet’s light for several moments.

“I don’t see any damage, but let me know if you start feeling pain or get any error messages. Satisfied now?” Ratchet turned and spoke to the other berth. “Sideswipe’s optics are fine, so you can stop worry about them.”

“Thanks,” First Aid murmured happily. “What about his leg…”

“First Aid,” Ratchet said sternly. “Who’s in charge of this medbay, anyway? Both his internal damages and his leg are healing, and I’m going to discharge him as soon as that knee articulation stabilizes a bit more. Is that acceptable?”

“Sorry…” First Aid’s voice was trailing and tired. “Optics?” he murmured again, very soft. Ratchet gave Sideswipe’s shoulder a pat and turned back to First Aid.

“Aid, I just checked them, remember? Sideswipe’s optics are fine.”

First Aid made an unintelligible sound that gave the impression of being somewhat skeptical, and mumbled something else as he slid back into recharge. Ratchet stared down at the junior medic, worried frown on his faceplates.

“How’s he doing?” Sideswipe asked hesitantly.

Ratchet shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. He’s been in and out for the last joor. The processor looping is not unusual after this much trauma, but his spark rate is still all over the place. Not that his spark’s been anything resembling normal since…” Ratchet paused, a furrow appearing between his optic ridges in a sudden frown. “He’s holding his own, for now. We’ll just have to see.”

“Now,” Ratchet continued, turning back to Sideswipe, “let’s see if that leg is ready to bear weight.” His optics were dim with fatigue, but they twinkled for a moment as he looked at the red frontliner. “You’ve been entirely too well-behaved and it’s starting to make me nervous.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Sideswipe quipped as he slid off the berth, then gasped and clung to Ratchet as pain shot up his leg and made his head spin.

“Still hurts that much?”

“Gah,” Sideswipe answered, as Ratchet eased him back down.

“All right, let me take another look,” Ratchet said with a weary sigh. “Looks like I’m stuck with you for now.” Ratchet’s voice was serious, but there was a twitch in the corner of his mouthplates that might have been a smile, Sideswipe thought. Hoped.

“At least your better half has sense enough to stay away,” Ratchet observed as he numbed Sideswipe’s leg and began puttering around inside. Sideswipe scowled. That was a good point. What the slag had Sunstreaker been up to anyway, all this time? He could feel his brother’s presence on the ship, like a distant burning star, but he was too far away to reach with their bond. Hadn’t even commed him once to see how he was doing. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to be the first to check in. Sideswipe crossed his arms and resolutely stared at the ceiling.

Slaggit.

_Yo. Sunny._

There was no response.

_Sunny? Sunstreaker? Bro? Old buddy ol’ pal? Suuuuuunny. Suuuuuunstreaker. Sunny?_

_What?_ came the annoyed response, finally.

_Sunny! I was getting worried! Why weren’t you answering?_

_I was in recharge, idiot._

_Oh. Why haven’t you been to see me?_ Ratchet growled a warning as Sideswipe fidgeted on the berth, and Sideswipe stilled himself with an effort. His skidplate was starting to ache though, after being on his back for so long.

 _It’s been exactly two cycles. I think you’ll live._ Sunstreaker answered dryly.

Huh. Sideswipe could have sworn he’d been here for two _orns_ at least.

 _That’s no excuse,_ he commed back.

There was no answer.

_Sunny? Suuunstreaker...Sunny Sunny Sunstreaker Sun-_

_Sideswipe. If you do not cease I’m coming down there to rip off your other leg. I’m. Tired._

Sideswipe chortled. Ratchet gave him a _look,_ complete with raised optic ridge, but said nothing, going back to his leg tinkering.

_Aw, Sunnyboy. I knew you cared._

There was no answer, not that Sideswipe expected one. When Sunstreaker got his beauty recharge he meant business. Those who interrupted did so at the peril of their structural integrity.

Sideswipe sighed and tried to shift his weight a little without moving the leg Ratchet was working on, staring again up at the medbay ceiling. He sighed again, louder and more pitifully, glancing hopefully at Ratchet, but the medic was unmoved, working intently. A wave of bright warmth flooded his spark suddenly, and Sideswipe turned his head to see his brother slinking through the medbay doors to make his way over to Sideswipe’s berth.

“Sunny!” Sideswipe’s grin stretched across his whole face. Sunstreaker did not smile, coming to stand by the berth and stare down at him unblinkingly. Sideswipe could feel a brief mental brush through the bond, reassurance and remonstrance for dragging him from his recharge. He really was tired, Sideswipe could sense. He’d been recovering from injuries, too. Sunstreaker lifted his gaze to where First Aid lay unmoving in his nest of monitors, tubes and wires.

“That guy’s still alive?” Sunstreaker asked, surprised. “Thought he was a goner.”

“Aid’s been through worse and pulled through,” Ratchet said mildly. Sideswipe looked at Ratchet in surprise. Worse? What could be worse than nearly being impaled through your spark chamber? “He’s tougher than he looks,” Ratchet added.

Sunstreaker grunted and pulled a chair over to settle himself next to Sideswipe. He rested his head against the wall behind him and fell into recharge again almost immediately. Sideswipe watched him contentedly, letting his optics rove over the shining yellow armor (hadn’t been to visit him but still found time to get his paint cleaned up, he thought with a snort), the fine chiseled molding of his faceplates, expression serious and stern even in repose, like something out of an old ballad of Cybertron. Feeling the weight of other optics on him, Sideswipe looked up to find Ratchet watching him with an almost…indulgent smile. He blinked and it was gone, Ratchet’s face returning to his more usual glower.

“All right. Give these adjustments a joor or so to settle and we’ll try again.” He eyed Sunstreaker for a moment. “He can stay as long as he’s recharging, but if I hear so much as a beep from either of you, he’s out. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sideswipe nodded. Ratchet tapped him gently on the head with his spanner in warning and left to pull up a chair next to First Aid so he could fill out reports and still keep an optic on his assistant.


	3. Chapter 3

Ratchet declared Sideswipe fit to leave after another cycle, giving him a cube of medical-grade energon to drink first with orders to follow up with a second cube of regular energon once he got to his quarters. Other than that, Ratchet had barely even talked to him, all of his attention focused on First Aid, who had taken a turn for the worse. The junior medic had been overheating, babbling deliriously again when he was awake and worrying almost continuously about Sideswipe’s optics. He was wracked by periodic coughing fits as his vents stuttered and his engine made painful grinding sounds.

Ratchet had finally taken to gathering First Aid, wires and monitoring equipment and all, up in his arms, sitting on the berth with him to try to keep him calm. First Aid would tolerate it for awhile, but even though his face mask was back up again, Sideswipe could see the discontented frown of his optic ridges. “We still need you here, Aid,” Sideswipe heard Ratchet murmur. “Stay with us. Hang in there.”

First Aid, who had been slipping into recharge again, was suddenly taken by another coughing fit that brought up pieces of dried energon from his vents. “Ugh,” First Aid gasped when it was over. “Interesting,” he said, speaking soft but distinctly for a moment. “So that’s what it feels like to do that.”

Ratchet chuckled despite his increasing worry as he gently suctioned out Aid’s vents. “Only you would turn this into an educational experience.” First Aid murmured something unintelligible, but sounding suspiciously like “Sideswipe” and “optics” and then thankfully slipped back into his restless recharge. Ironhide stopped by with more energon, and after a brief nod of greeting to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, passed a cube to Ratchet and took Ratchet’s place on the berth, carefully gathering First Aid against his armor. First Aid shifted restlessly away from Ironhide and then dropped his helm against the larger mech’s chestplates, recharge winning out for the moment.

“He fights it, doesn’t he,” Ironhide said, wrapping one arm around First Aid cautiously, protectively. Ratchet nodded, rubbing tiredly at his optics.

“Our energy fields are not the best substitutes, but his systems do respond to the contact, at least a little. But yes. He’s fighting it.” 

Sideswipe quietly slid off the berth and left the medbay with Sunstreaker’s help without saying goodbye, guiltily relieved to be away. The look in Ratchet’s optics was tearing at his spark. If the First Aid was going to kick the ion bucket it seemed to Sideswipe that he should be there somehow, in some way he couldn’t quite explain to himself. Even if Ratchet said it wasn’t his fault, he should be there to…bear witness, or something. Sideswipe snorted. He’d just be in the way. Ratchet would never notice.

//Primus, Sideswipe. Why don’t you just go kiss him or something// Sunstreaker had evidently gotten fed up with his brother’s maunderings.

//No way!// Sideswipe retorted. He didn’t want to kiss Ratchet. Even if Ratchet did have very nice lips. Not as nice as Sunstreaker’s though. Sideswipe grinned as he felt Sunstreaker preening a little through the bond. And Ratchet wasn’t nearly as shiny, and even though white-and-red was a nice color combination, yellow was really the only way to go, and…

Sunstreaker, sensing when his brother crossed the fine line between admiring to laughing at him, growled and shoved. Sideswipe stumbled against the wall of the corridor and promptly lost his balance, falling over into a heap.

“Ow,” he moaned, as he gingerly tried to roll over without putting strain on his still-healing leg. “What was that for?” he said reproachfully.

General principle,” Sunstreaker said succinctly, but Sideswipe caught the brief touch of remorse through their bond as Sunstreaker leaned over to give him a hand up. He’d been annoyed, but hadn’t meant to push him quite so hard. “So what do you think?”

“Huh?” Sideswipe asked, puzzled by the non sequitur, but familiar with Sunstreaker’s assumption that everyone knew what he was thinking about. And often Sideswipe did know, but right now Sunstreaker’s thoughts were elusive.

“That guy,” Sunstreaker said more emphatically. “You know.”

Sideswipe gave his brother a shove. //I _don’t_ know, idiot. Who do you think I am, your twin or something?//

Sunstreaker shoved back, with only token force this time. //Don’t call me idiot. Idiot//

Sideswipe pummeled back through their bond until Sunstreaker relented and gave up an image of a small white-and-red medic lying on a berth. //Do you think he’ll deactivate?//

“First Aid? Why didn’t you just say so, dummy.”

“I did say so.”

Sideswipe flickered his optics and gave up. “He didn’t look real good, bro.” Sideswipe had to stop and steady his vocalizer, and Sunstreaker gave him an odd look. What was the matter with him? Going soft over a boring little medbay assistant. Ratchet’s favorite special one. That he’d probably deactivated. Wasn’t the first friend they’d deactivated, the thought floated between them, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if it was his or Sunstreaker's.

“Great. That makes me feel better,” Sideswipe said aloud. They had reached their quarters. Sideswipe limped over to his berth and flopped down on the edge. Sunstreaker shrugged, but came over and sat next to him. Sideswipe couldn’t quite catch his twin’s emotions, still elusive, as they often were when it was anything besides anger or the fierceness of battle. Some sympathy, for him, dark memories that Sunstreaker wouldn’t let him catch, tucking them deep away when he noticed Sideswipe noticing. Sideswipe didn’t pursue them; he’d tried that before.

“I’ll get you some energon,” Sunstreaker said, after awhile, with the air of someone making a great decision.

“You’re too kind,” Sideswipe said grandly.

“Why yes I am,” Sunstreaker shoved his brother on the shoulder, not too hard, as he got up, a quick grin flashing across his face, there and gone again like a lightning flash. Sideswipe tried to shove back but Sunstreaker was already heading for the door. He was smiling helplessly, as he couldn’t help but do when Sunstreaker looked at him like that. His smile faded though, as he remembered what he’d been trying to forget. Stupid little medic, getting himself hurt. His head hurt. Sideswipe curled up in a ball and waited for Sunstreaker to return with the energon.

Sideswipe avoided the medbay for the next orn. His leg was healing fine, and Jazz had scheduled him back on light duty, but the headaches were starting to get annoying. He should have gone back to Ratchet right away, but he was afraid to return and discover that First Aid had deactivated, and then he had waited so long that he feared Ratchet’s wrath from admitting how long he had waited. Sunstreaker finally threatened to make his head _really_ hurt, which degenerated into an out-and-out tussling match which only ended when Sideswipe smacked his head against a wall and nearly purged. Sunstreaker moved a prudent step back, and then, once Sideswipe got his tank under control, dragged him to the door, pushed him out in the hallway, and shut and locked it behind him.

Sideswipe looked at the door forlornly for a moment, and then, as his head gave another sharp throb, at last made his way back to the medbay. When he got there he was surprised to see First Aid, apparently upright and functional, standing forlornly outside the closed door of the medbay, much as Sideswipe had been doing at his own door a few moments ago.

“Hey! You’re alive!” Sideswipe said in surprise, deeply relieved.

“Yes, I am,” First Aid nodded. From anyone else, Sideswipe might have suspected sarcasm, but First Aid answered Sideswipe’s statement of the obvious with full and sincere solemnity.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Ratchet kicked me out.” Aid’s soft voice had the static raspy sound of someone only running at part strength, and he wobbled a little where he stood.

“Kicked you out?” Sideswipe repeated. He’d thought First Aid pretty much lived in the medbay. Aside from planetside missions he’d never seen First Aid anywhere else, other than the odd time or two in the hallways of the Ark, and it seemed strange that Ratchet would just kick out a patient that was so obviously far from fully recovered. Sideswipe maybe, if he’d been annoying enough, but not his favorite little assistant that he’d been hovering over like an anxious creator for nearly two orns.

“I was just trying to clean the ceiling,” First Aid said, in a slightly defensive tone of voice. “It’s filthy. I don’t think it’s been cleaned since the Ark was first commissioned.”

Ah yes. Sideswipe had memorized every single stain and dent on that slagging thing, himself.

“I know just what you mean,” he agreed. First Aid looked back at the medbay door again, seemingly at a loss.

“What are you going to do now?” Sideswipe asked.

First Aid’s visor brightened briefly. “I don’t really know,” he said, with something that might have been a laugh if it were louder. “Maybe walk around? I’m supposed to walk a little bit, Ratchet said.”

Privately Sideswipe thought he looked like a good breeze would tip him over, as he watched the medic list to the left a little, and then back to the right before he centered himself again. Sideswipe sighed to himself reluctantly, but there was no way he was going to let First Aid roam around in this state, and he still couldn’t believe Ratchet had let his precious assistant out in this condition in the first place.

“Here, I’ll walk you to your quarters, how’s that,” he offered. Sideswipe could see First Aid’s optic shutters blink in surprise behind his visor. “You _do_ have quarters, don’t you?”

”Um…” First Aid rubbed at his helm a little in thought. “They assigned me some when we first boarded the Ark. I think I remember where they are.”

Sideswipe shook his head. Poor mech was still so addled he couldn’t remember where he lived.

“All right, well show me the way. Least I can do is make sure you get there in one piece.”

“Thank you, Sideswipe,” First Aid said, visor glowing a deeper blue. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” First Aid took an unsteady step, putting his hand on the wall for balance. Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but he couldn’t exactly let the guy stagger all the way to his quarters. He moved to First Aid’s other side and gingerly hooked a hand under the medic’s arm to help him along. Sideswipe had to brace himself a little; First Aid was heavier than he’d anticipated as the medic leaned trustingly on his arm.

Ironhide appeared from around an intersecting corridor ahead of them, optic ridges rising in surprise when he saw First Aid clinging to Sideswipe’s arm as they made their slow, careful way down the corridor. Sideswipe looked at Ironhide with an expression that was not exactly desperate, but clearly conveyed his relief at seeing the burly weapon's master, and, thank Primus, he could pass the injured medic on to someone else. Ironhide’s mouthplates quirked suddenly, as if he was suppressing a smile.

“Look at you, up and walking around,” Ironhide said, and he did smile this time, looking at First Aid fondly. “So ol’ Ratch kicked you out, huh?”

“I guess I’m not a very good patient,” First Aid said ruefully, pausing to rest, leaning heavily on Sideswipe and cycling air deeply through his vents.

“Aw, you weren’t so bad, kid. Just kinda out of it for awhile,” Ironhide reassured him.

“Thank you for helping take care of me. I don’t remember a lot, but Ratchet said you were there.”

Ironhide chuckled. “And how many times have you stayed with me after helping patch my sorry aft back together? Ratchet sent me to keep an optic on ya and make sure you don’t try to go around giving everyone maintenance checks or vacuum the hallways or anything, but it looks like you’re in good hands already.”

Sideswipe widened his optics in alarm, but Ironhide only smirked. Probably thinking it would be another one of those ‘character building experiences’ he was so fond of, the sadistic fragger.

“Let me double check with the boss, first,” Ironhide told them, activating his comm. Shortly after, Sideswipe was contacted by Ratchet, who proceeded to grill him on where he was taking First Aid and promises of dire fates if he were to be stupid enough to allow any sort of additional damage to the injured junior medic, followed by an insanely detailed list of everything First Aid was and was not allowed to do while he was out of Ratchet’s direct supervision.

First Aid evidently wasn’t privy to any of it, watching Sideswipe’s dazed expression curiously.

“Ok then?” Ironhide asked cheerfully, patting Sideswipe on the shoulder. “Don’t look so terrified, soldier,” he murmured in Sideswipe’s audio. “After a vorn wrestling some kind of sense into you and yer brother I think I know ya pretty well. There’s a solid spark under all your nonsense. You can handle him." Ironhide straightened and gave First Aid a wink. “Take it easy, kid. Glad yer feelin’ better.” Ironhide continued on his way and Sideswipe stood blinking for a moment, processing Ironhide’s rare -- praise? He supposed that counted as praise -- while First Aid waited patiently.

“All right, so how far to your quarters?” Sideswipe asked finally, with a resigned but resolute sigh, and they made their way back down the corridor at First Aid’s slow, careful pace.

“How’s your leg,” First Aid asked, glancing over at Sideswipe and watching for limping.

“Huh uh, no way,” Sideswipe said, waving his free hand defensively. “Ratchet said absolutely no repairing or he’d come and vacuum my processor out through my noseplates.”

“He did?” First Aid said, sounding surprised.

“Yeah he did. So do me a favor and don’t fall over, or bump into something, or Primus forbid, try to _fix_ anything, ok?”

First Aid nodded. “For your continued health then,” he said. “I’ll try to behave myself.” Sideswipe couldn’t be sure but he thought First Aid sounded amused. They took a few more steps and First Aid stopped at the next door.

“This it?” Sideswipe said in relief. That was easy enough.

“I guess so,” First Aid said, transmitting his security code to the door. It slid open smoothly and First Aid walked hesitantly inside. Sideswipe looked around in confusion.

“These are your quarters? There’s nothing in here!” Nothing but a berth in the corner and an empty workstation in the other. Quarters on the Ark were, by necessity, quite small, but most ‘bots managed to stuff in an assortment of personal detritus, entertainment, holo vids, mementos and image captures. Sideswipe would have expected to find a few data pads scattered around, at the very least. First Aid was always reading them in the medbay.

“You really DO live in the medbay, don’t you.” Sideswipe looked at First Aid in amazement. First Aid sat on the berth, looking very small and alone.

“Thanks, Sideswipe, for making sure I got here ok,” First Aid said softly. Sideswipe stared at him for a moment uncertainly. On the one hand, he was relieved to get his First Aid guardian ‘bot duties over so painlessly, on the other hand…slaggit. There was no way he could just leave First Aid sitting alone in an empty room like this. Curse it all to Pit. When did he develop a case of soft spark? Sunstreaker was going to think he’d lost his processor. And he’d only be proving Ironhide _right_ of all the annoying things.

“Come on,” he sighed. First Aid made a puzzled noise.

“Come on,” Sideswipe repeated. “You’re coming with me. At least we’ve got a holo vid in my quarters.” 

First Aid tilted his helm, but got up again, carefully, with a small involuntary gasp through his intakes. Sideswipe reached out a hand, but First Aid waved it away.

“Thanks, but...I think...I’m ok.”

Sideswipe wondered if this was a good idea. At least his and Sunny’s quarters weren’t too far away, otherwise he’d probably be carrying the medic over his shoulder or something. Not an appealing thought, with his head still throbbing like Pit. Somehow his original mission to get that looked at had been completely sidetracked. He looked at First Aid consideringly, but decided not to risk Ratchet’s threats. Absolutely no fixing.

He’d forgotten that Sunstreaker locked him out. Sideswipe gave First Aid an apologetic look as he pounded on the door and yelled for Sunny to just open the fraggin’ door. Sunstreaker took his own sweet time, but finally the door slid open.

//What the Pit, bro?// Sunstreaker asked in amazement as Sideswipe entered, trailed by the little red-and-white medic. //Ratchet doesn’t trust you alone away from the medbay so he sent you with a sparkling-sitter?//

Sideswipe rolled his optics. //Other way around. He kicked First Aid out and I got stuck making sure he doesn’t strain a servo or any other slag//

//That guy. He didn’t deactivate then//

//Obviously not// Sideswipe sent, with a mental snort. Sunstreaker wasn’t stupid, far from it, but sometimes he was a little unobservant when it came to other ‘bots. First Aid was peering curiously around, one hand on the doorframe for support. His vents sounded funny, whirring with an unhealthy sound, and Sideswipe waved him to his berth before he fell down. First Aid wobbled as he made his way over, accidentally kicking a table leg as he tried to catch his balance.

“Sorry,” he murmured, patting the table sympathetically.

Sideswipe paused his sudden motion forward to keep the medic from taking a nosedive when it appeared First Aid was going to make it to the berth safely on his own.

“Sorry? Aid…that’s a table.” First Aid looked up at him from where he’d lowered himself to Sideswipe’s berth and nodded.

“You just apologized to a table.”

“I know,” First Aid said, not seeming to see anything unusual.

“It…can’t feel anything, you know that.”

“I know, Sideswipe,” First Aid said, with that note in his voice that hinted he might be smiling. “That’s no cause to be rude though.”

Weird. Sweet Primus, First Aid was a weird ‘bot. And what the slag was he supposed to do with him now that he was here? Sideswipe rubbed at his helm, the headache intensifying with a vengeance. He could tell Sunstreaker was glaring at him from behind his back for not getting that looked at like he was supposed to. First Aid was looking at him too, optics worried behind the visor.

“Sideswipe…are you ok?” he asked. “I can go back to the medbay if you’re busy. It’s all right, really. I can protect you from Ratchet.” The last was said with the tiniest hint of teasing, so subtle Sideswipe almost thought he was imagining it.

“No, no, it’s not you. Just this slagging headache won’t go away.” Too late Sideswipe remembered exactly who he was talking to. First Aid was up before he could blink his optic shutters, urging him to sit on the berth with gentle hands. The medic peered into his optics and then ran a hand over his helm. Sideswipe could feel the gentle buzz of a scanner, like tiny vibrations through his processor. It eased the pain for a moment, but he winced as the scan stopped and the pain returned.

“How are your optics feeling? Any pain?” First Aid tilted Sideswipe’s head up so he could see better.

Sideswipe just looked at him. “Not this again,” he muttered.

“What?” First Aid asked, puzzled, hands pausing in their perusal of Sideswipe’s face and helm.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s only like the millionth time you’ve asked me that.”

First Aid made another puzzled noise.

“When we were in the medbay. After you were hurt. You wouldn’t stop worrying about my optics.”

“I’m sorry, Sideswipe. I guess I can get a little…fixated on things sometimes. I must have been processor looping.”

Sideswipe was starting to feel guilty about complaining about it. First Aid had been delirious after all, and he was just trying to do his job.

“I’m afraid this time it might really be the optics causing your headaches. Sometimes the damage from a photon blast doesn’t manifest until much later. Here…” First Aid shuttered his own optics and with a small flick of his head his visor snicked up to the top of his head. He reached up and detached it, holding it out to Sideswipe with his optics still shuttered.

“Put this on for a moment and see if it helps.”

Sideswipe did so, awkwardly sliding the visor over his face. It was a little loose, he noticed. Huh, he’d never have guessed First Aid had the bigger head. The light shielding on the visor caused everything to go darker around him, but the relief was almost immediate.

“Hey, my head feels better!” he exclaimed, tilting his head this way and that to test it out.

First Aid nodded. “I’ll make you a therapeutic light shield when I get back to the medbay. Dim the lights in here for now and that should help temporarily, but you’ll need the light shield, too, and probably a few mag-wave treatments as well to make sure the damage reverses itself. It’s usually not permanent as long as you get treatment.”

Sunstreaker dimmed the lights to their lowest level, and Sideswipe handed the visor back. First Aid placed it back on his helm and flicked it back in place, where it brightened to its usual blue glow as he opened his optics again.

“That what happened to you?” Sideswipe asked curiously. “Photon blast?” Mechs could have visors for a variety of purposes, but from the way First Aid kept his optics so tightly shuttered without it, his visor was probably not an optional accessory.

“Mmm, no.” First Aid shook his head. “Disrupter cannon. Point blank hit, wiped out most of my sensory network for awhile.”

Sunstreaker made a surprised sound, and Sideswipe echoed it. A point blank blast from a disrupter cannon usually left a pile of smoking scrap metal. That must be what Ratchet had meant about First Aid being tougher than he looked.

“How the pit did you survive that one?” Sideswipe asked.

“I wasn’t just me,” First Aid said, sitting back down on the berth. “The blast was dissipated quite a bit since we were...I was…my….” First Aid paused for a moment, seeming to lose track of what he was saying, optic ridges furrowed. Sideswipe wondered if it was a symptom of his injuries. Maybe he should call Ratchet? “My b-brothers absorbed a lot of the blast energy, too.”

“Brothers? As in plural?” Sunstreaker asked. Spark-twins like themselves were extremely rare, brothers from the same Vector Sigma creator-set were less rare, but still unusual, and bond-brothers were usually two, or more rarely three. Sideswipe had never met anyone with more than one sibling.

“Four,” First Aid said, with a short laugh that sounded like it had been surprised out of him.

Four? Sideswipe almost scoffed in disbelief. No one had four brothers. 

“Where are they then?” Sunstreaker was asking. Sideswipe felt Sunstreaker’s skepticism through the bond.

First Aid shook his helm and drew a raspy vent through his intakes. “I...think...I don’t really...I...lost them,” First Aid got it out at last. One hand was tightly clasping the other in his lap, as if for comfort.

“Lost…” Sunstreaker repeated. A sharp pang of understanding echoed between them. Everyone had lost someone, many someones, in this war, but to lose a brother, four brothers, no one had four brothers, except a gestalt maybe, and Aid certainly wasn’t an Aerialbot, and the only other gestalts were Decepticons or …something clicked in Sideswipe’s processor.

“ _Defensor._ You were part of Defensor,” Sideswipe said slowly, barely able to believe it, but nothing else made sense. First Aid looked up sharply at the name. Five Protectobot brothers. All search and rescue, one had been a medic. Defensor’s components had been deactivated, tragically lost, several vorns back at the end of the Cybonic plague; it had been a great blow to the Autobots, and with the Allspark hidden away no new gestalt had been built to replace him. Only not all of the Protectobots had been lost, apparently. One had survived, though all the legends Sideswipe knew about gestalts said that that was impossible.

“Defensor,” First Aid said, softly, and again, like he was reminding himself. “Defensor.”

“I met you before! Or Defensor, anyway, once.” Sideswipe blinked his optic shutters in surprise at the realization.

First Aid looked up at him, nodding. “We’ve met a few times, actually.” His optics were bright behind the visor in the dimmed lighting of their quarters. “You remember that?”

“Yes,” he said. Defensor had taken the roof from his prison, brought light to the darkness, pulled the walls apart until he could find Sunstreaker again. Four vorns ago? Five? It was tangled in his memory banks with the darkness before and after, but he remembered the concern and kindness in Defensor’s great optics. A trap, he had thought at the time. There was no way it could be trusted, nothing like that could be trusted, and if it were true it would be wrong to reach for it with all the confused darkness in his spark and so he had run, with Sunny. Looking at First Aid now, recognizing echoes of that concern and kindness in the focus of his gaze, Sideswipe was fairly certain that had been a mistake. They should have stayed.

“Defensor,” Sunstreaker muttered, looking at the unimposing medic sitting on Sideswipe’s berth. “They sing songs about Defensor.”

First Aid tilted his helm in Sunstreaker’s direction. “Songs?” He laughed a little incredulously. “They do?”

“Yeah, and Sideswipe can sing them all for you.” Both of their minds were veering away from something they didn’t want to contemplate, not for long. Brothers, lost. Sunstreaker took out his uneasiness by elbowing his brother hard in the side, and Sideswipe grabbed Sunny’s arm and twisted it behind him. Sunstreaker retaliated by sweeping his leg under Sideswipe’s and toppling them both to the floor, pinning Sideswipe beneath him and growling a soft crooning warning in his audio. First Aid watched all of this with no sign of alarm, visor still glowing bright, pulling up his legs onto the berth to avoid the flailing limbs and peering over the side at Sideswipe’s contorted face as he squirmed on the floor beneath Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker followed Sideswipe’s gaze, craning his neck up to fix his hot glare on the medic. “Do you ever take that face mask off?” he asked, grunting a little as Sideswipe shoved against him.

First Aid shook his helm. “It’s attached,” he said, apparently seeing nothing strange in the question, “but I can retract it.” He demonstrated, revealing his pleasant, unremarkable face with a small hint of a smile curving the ends of his lip components.

“Not hideous,” was Sunstreaker’s verdict. “Why do you keep it closed all the time?” Sideswipe raised an optic ridge; Sunstreaker, trying to make conversation? Expressing interest, by choice, to another mechanism that wasn’t trying to kill him. It was kind of weird.

First Aid shrugged. “I didn’t always, but...after, I would smile and no one understood, and…” First Aid’s visor flickered and his optic shutters blinked rapidly for a moment. He shook his helm again and sighed, and found a small smile for Sunstreaker. Sideswipe didn’t see anything about it that would require it to be hidden. “You remind me of Slingshot, a little,” First Aid said, the smile curving wider. “And Air Raid, and Fireflight, and even Skydive and Silverbolt sometimes. They always wrestle around like that.”

Aerialbots! Sideswipe thought with a thrill. Of course. He had been part of Defensor, of course First Aid knew the Aerialbots. Pit, he’d probably sparred with Superion! Sideswipe wriggled, though he could feel Sunstreaker laughing at him. Sunstreaker had never understood his brother’s fascination with jets, seekers or otherwise. They were just so…fast! And shiny. They made Sideswipe want to fly, too.

//I should have been a jet// he told Sunstreaker.

//You should have been an exhaust pipe// Sunstreaker jibed back. //No wonder he’s so…the way he is, when there’s fighting, if he’s used to being Defensor// Totally oblivious, Sunstreaker meant. If there was a patient to be tended, it didn’t matter what was in the way, First Aid generally found a way to get there. They provided cover when they could, at first under Ironhide’s direction, but now they’d gotten in the habit of keeping an optic out for a white form moving right through the thick of things. It was just a sort of automatic response. Sideswipe hardly noticed he was doing it anymore.

Primus, that meant First Aid was also…what…not even eleven vorns old? Defensor, the Protectobots, had been tragically, appallingly young at their deactivation, only sparklings. It was in all the songs. He and Sunstreaker were still considered barely adults at eight hundred some vorns, but even the Aerialbots would be celebrating their two hundredth sparkday soon.

//You keep track of their ages?// Sunstreaker marveled.

//What?// Sideswipe sent, defensive.

//Nothing…I’m just saying, you pay an awful lot of attention to those guys//

//I do not//

//Maybe someday you’ll meet your heroes, bro, don’t worry//

//They’re NOT my heroes// Sideswipe growled. Sunstreaker sent a wordless wave of amused disbelief in his direction.

Sideswipe glanced up to see if First Aid was still watching them, but the medic had dropped his head against his knees.

“Aid? You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, just a little tired.” First Aid lifted his head again and gave him that same small smile. There was nothing sad about it, but for some reason it sent a pang through Sideswipe’s spark. Poor kid had to feel like slag, Sideswipe was pretty certain. It was only an orn ago he’d been delirious in Ratchet’s arms and hooked up to every possible monitor and machine in the medbay. His visor looked dimmer than before. Ratchet had a remote monitor on him, so he would know if First Aid was about to keel over, but still...

“You can lay down,” Sideswipe told him, as he pushed Sunstreaker off and scrambled to his feet. Sunstreaker didn’t protest.

“I’m ok,” First Aid said. “It feels good to sit up for a change.” He let his head drop back down to his knees again. “Thank you for looking after me,” he added, voice muffled. “You can do whatever you were doing. I’ll be fine here for awhile and then maybe Ratchet will let me back in the medbay, if I promise not to clean anything.” First Aid’s face appeared again for a moment as he looked up, his smile sweet and slightly wry this time.

“Ok,” Sideswipe said. He stood looking at the medic, sitting curled up in a ball on his berth.

“I’m sorry, about your brothers,” he said after awhile, his processor finally circling back to what it had been avoiding.

First Aid’s helm nodded. “I think you remind me of them, sometimes, the way you fit together," he said, his sentences wandering a little, as if he were winding down into recharge. "Or when you’re on the battlefield, the way you fight, it’s like a dance. It’s like watching the Aerialbots flying only on the ground. When you become one.” 

Sideswipe glanced at Sunstreaker. The bond between them was not something they talked about, or analyzed, it just was something that was there, and always had been. It made them both nervous, when other bots were interested in it. Bad things had happened, when …someone…had gotten too curious. Wheeljack had been curious, and Ratchet, but they’d dropped the whole topic quickly enough at Sunstreaker’s flat cold reaction, at Sideswipe’s joking evasions. It was one of the reasons they’d felt safe enough to stay, to be repaired. Medbays were bad places, before, but Ratchet’s medbay was different. It was safe there.

First Aid lifted his helm to smile at them again, face mask still retracted, looking tired but fond as his sat, arms around knees on Sideswipe’s berth. Sideswipe had a sudden memory of First Aid bracing over him during battlefield repairs, steady and unflinching while explosions and debris rocked the world.

“You survived, without them?” Sideswipe’s voice rose uncertainly, halfway through asking the question before his processor caught up and told him sternly that maybe this was not a line of questioning he should pursue.

First Aid’s optics seemed unfocused, a little, behind the visor, like he was looking inward.

“I know. I’m not supposed to be here, but I stayed,” he said slowly. “You kept me here, and I couldn’t leave while you needed me.” First Aid shook his helm a little, puzzled. “And then…you were gone, and I was alone, but they wanted me to stay, Wheeljack, and Silverbolt and Ratchet and Optimus…and I was alone but not alone…and even though I…miss them--” First Aid’s voice faltered and he trailed off. Sideswipe regarded him uneasily. He was showing some worrisome signs of heading into meltdown territory, and Sideswipe had no idea what he was going to do if that happened. Sunstreaker edged away uncertainly as well.

“Primus.” First Aid drew a harsh intake of atmosphere. “Oh Primus, I miss them, but…somehow as long as I can keep you both ok, that means they’re ok, wherever they are, and I’m so sorry they’re waiting for me but I’m staying, I can't go, not yet…it hurts so much, I can’t…” First Aid’s hands were clenched into tight fists and he trembled as he forced out the words one at a time. He ducked his head back down into his knees, and made a deep spark-wrenching sound that was not quite a sob. His engine caught and stumbled with a strained, high-pitched keen.

“What do we do?” Sideswipe looked over at his brother, optics wide.

“I don’t know! Comfort him, or something…” Sunstreaker backed away further.

“You comfort him!”

First Aid let out a strangled laugh, and something that sounded vaguely like “I’m ok,” followed by some deep gasping intakes. His hands clenched and released around his knees as he tried to regain control.

 _Where are you and what the frag are you doing to him?_ Sideswipe started at Ratchet’s terse comm. _His vitals are all over the place._

 _In my quarters and I don’t the Pit know!_ Sideswipe commed back, with a sense of relief. Even Ratchet’s Great Displeasure was preferable to dealing with...whatever was shaking First Aid apart. _We were just talking._

 _On my way. Do not move._ Sideswipe had no intention of moving, was his panicked thought as he pressed close to Sunstreaker. A few kliks later Ratchet burst in, barely giving the door time to clear before he entered, his expression like that of a descending angel of doom.

He scanned First Aid, then sat next to the shivering medic and put one arm around him.

“Ratchet--“ First Aid managed to say. Ratchet frowned at the whine of his cooling fans as they struggled to cope with the strain on still-healing internals.

“Aid, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on,” Ratchet asked, gentle and concerned, his voice so at odds with his earlier expression that Sideswipe reset his audials a few times. First Aid shook his head but didn’t answer, shivering harder. More of those awful, choking not-sobs tumbled from his vocalizer.

“What happened?” Ratchet looked over at the two frontliners, and, despite his worry for his assistant he could not suppress an amused snort at the sight of the two holy terrors, fearsome melee warriors, bane of both Decepticons and of his own sanity, pressed together in the corner for all the world like two frightened sparklings and staring at First Aid as if he was one of Wheeljack’s inventions counting down to explosion.

“We were…we were just talking, honest. About his brothers....Ratchet, how come you never told us he was part of Defensor?”

Ratchet’s optic ridges rose in surprise. “He told you about his brothers?” Ratchet gave them both a sharp, unreadable look, and they both shifted nervously. First Aid tried to pull himself into an even tighter ball, and Ratchet turned his attention back to his assistant.

“Aid, you need to calm down,” he said, rubbing one shoulder soothingly. “You’re starting to overheat. Take deep intakes.”

First Aid complied, the air shuddering through his vents.

“Good, and another. Keep doing that.”

“I can’t,” First Aid gasped out. “Ratchet, I can’t stop. I can’t…I can’t do this-“

“Maybe you should?” Ratchet asked, keeping up his gentle touch. “You’ve never let yourself grieve for them, not since it happened. Maybe you should stop trying to fight it.”

First Aid shook his head vigorously, clenching in upon himself with a choked moan.

“I’m going to have to put you in stasis, then. You’re shaking yourself apart. Your systems can’t handle this right now and you’re going to overheat if I don’t get more coolant in you.”

First Aid made more noises, unintelligible but sounding like a muffled protest.

Ratchet sighed and looked up at the two huddled melee warriors, both of them watching with wide optics.

//We broke him// Sunstreaker sent with a little note of hysteria in the thought.

//Shut up// Sideswipe sent back, with the same note. First Aid, always so calm and cheerful, no matter what. And then they had to go and find the _one thing_ that would freak him out. Maybe they should try to fix it?

“Ratchet, can we...um, do something? To help?” he asked hesitantly.

“You mean that?” Ratchet’s optics were sharp, judging their sincerity. Sideswipe immediately regretted making the offer, but he’d be slagged if he was going to back down now.

//Smooth move, greasy lubricant//

//Shut up, Sunny//

“Yes…” Sideswipe started out sounding certain but then his voice wavered at the glint in Ratchet’s optics.

“Come over here, then. You too, Sunstreaker. Now take him-“ Sideswipe held his arms out awkwardly as Ratchet handed over First Aid. “Yes, just like that. Sunstreaker, you lay down here and…here we go.” Ratchet gently tugged Sideswipe down, indicating he should lie down with First Aid, next to Sunstreaker, until the medic was sandwiched between them.

“No…” First Aid moaned, uncurling and pushing weakly against Sideswipe’s chest.

“Shhh, Aid, don’t fight this. You need it. Deep intakes. Keep taking them,” Ratchet soothed. “Gestalts recharge like this,” he explained to Sideswipe. “His systems are programmed for the physical contact, the gestalt frequency. You two aren’t a gestalt, exactly, but...I’m hoping it’s close enough.” 

Sideswipe could feel what Ratchet meant – First Aid was relaxing, almost against his will it seemed, his whole frame starting to go limp against him, though still shaken by those wrenching almost-sobs.

“Sideswipe,” First Aid mumbled, intakes hitching. “Optics.”

Oh no, not this again. Ratchet’s expression was alarmed.

“No, really, there’s something wrong with my optics this time.” Sideswipe hastened to reassure him. “First Aid was right. Delayed…photon damage or something, he said. I was getting headaches.”

Ratchet seemed flummoxed for a moment, looking at his assistant and then back at Sideswipe several times.

“I was coming to see you about it,” Sideswipe said defensively, heading off any potential rants.

“All right,” Ratchet said at last. “I’ll pick up some light shielding while I’m at it. No wonder it’s so dim in here, I was wondering. Okay, Aid?” Ratchet stroked First Aid’s helm again. “I’ll take care of his optics, now power down.”

First Aid relaxed a little more, shutting down his own optics though he continued to make soft unhappy sounds against Sideswipe’s armor. The medic felt very warm, and Sideswipe turned up his cooling fans several notches. “There. There you go,” Ratchet said. Ratchet waited a few more breems, Sideswipe could feel First Aid growing heavier, more relaxed, until finally the medic was limp between them in recharge and Ratchet deemed it safe to leave.

“I’ll be back soon.” 

“This is weird, Sunny,” Sideswipe said, after a few kliks of silence.

Sunstreaker snorted. “You think? And just who got us into this Mr. ‘Let’s Be Nice to First Aid’?”

“I bet Ratchet was just pulling our legs when he said gestalt teams recharge like this.”

“It worked though, didn’t it?”

“Well, it may be comforting, but it’s sure not comfortable. My whole arm is going numb. He weighs a megaton!”

“Move then, idiot.”

They shifted, squirming until the medic sandwiched between them was no longer putting pressure on Sideswipe’s arm.

“He still crying at all?”

“Just barely. I didn’t even know you could cry in recharge.”

They could both hear the faint, unhappy revving of First Aid’s engine.

“Rub his back,” Sunstreaker suggested.

“What?”

“He does that for me sometimes.”

“Does what?” Sideswipe asked.

“Rubs my back. Keeps me from tearing up the medbay when Ratchet’s operating on you.”

“I didn’t know that.” Sideswipe was surprised. Sunstreaker never let anyone but Sideswipe behind him.

“It helps. Mostly because I’m too busy remembering not to turn around and shoot him to worry about you.”

“He never rubs MY back,” Sideswipe said petulantly.

“I’m better looking,” Sunstreaker smirked. “Now rub.”

“Ha. I’m rubbing. Are you happy now?”

“Slower, and go in circles.”

“Who died and made you Prime?”

“Just do it, slag head, and watch out for where he got hurt.”

“I am not an idiot.”

“Debatable.”

“Shut up. Fraggin’ back rubbing dictating offspring of a…huh, well would you look at that.” Sideswipe blinked as First Aid sighed deeply and relaxed, the distressed frown on his faceplates finally smoothing away and his engine evening out. He shook his head in disbelief. “If anyone finds out we’re doing this we’ll never hear the end of it,” Sideswipe muttered, but nevertheless continued to soothe the recharging medic curled up against him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some violence in this chapter, including some twin-on-twin violence in what essentially amounts to self-harm.

“His back feels…weird,” Sideswipe said after awhile. 

“Weird?”

“It’s all…rippled or something.”

Sunstreaker reached so he could run a hand over First Aid’s back armor. “Something did a number on him. Disrupter cannon blast he was talking about, maybe?” 

“And these…” Sideswipe’s hand moved a little higher. 

“Electrowhip scars…” Sunstreaker’s optic ridges drew together in a frown. They knew about those. “Who the slag would…” His optics met his brother’s in mutual outrage. 

"Maybe that happened, when...you know. He lost them."

First Aid stirred, a slight frown on his faceplates, and Sideswipe resumed his back rubbing. He was uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, and Sunstreaker took the opportunity to offline his optics. 

“Sunny?” Sideswipe broke the silence finally.

“Yeah, wiseaft?” Sunstreaker replied with no real force.

“Don’t ever leave, ok?” Sunstreaker looked over in surprise at the slight waver in his twin’s voice. They locked optics for several sparkbeats, and then Sunstreaker wordlessly enveloped his counterpart in the reassuring equivalent of a warm bear hug through their bond. Optimus had promised not to separate them, when they had joined the Autobots. Sideswipe believed him, to the core of his spark, but...First Aid was a stark reminder. Things could happen.

//Never bro. You found me, remember? Anywhere we go it will be together. Always. Got it?//

After awhile Sideswipe nodded, letting himself lean against their bond, the bright presence that was his brother surrounding him. 

//Got it//

First Aid sighed again, murmuring something they didn’t quite understand, shifting slightly to tuck both of his hands up under his chin. There were a few more moments of silence.

“I’m not going to rub your back though,” Sunstreaker said.

“Sunny?”

“Yeah?”

“Upload this.” Sideswipe paused in his back rubbing to make a “Go to Pit” sign. Sunstreaker glared at him like a ruffled turbofalcon, ready to strike, but Sideswipe indicated the now peaceful medic between them.

“Aah ah ah. No fighting.” 

Sunstreaker subsided, grumbling.

“Sunny?”

“What now,” Sunstreaker groaned.

“I’m bored.”

Sunstreaker was saved a reply by Ratchet, returning from the medbay. 

//Thank Primus// Sunstreaker thought. Sideswipe snickered.

“He’s still out?” Ratchet asked rhetorically as he settled on the edge of the berth and readied a syringe. “Good.” 

“How long do we have to stay like this?” Sideswipe asked, trying not to sound too petulant about it. 

“This really bothers you guys, doesn’t it?” Ratchet asked, as he leaned over and opened a panel on First Aid’s arm. His mouthplates held the hint of a smile, suggesting that he found their discomfort amusing.

“Makes me…I don’t know. Twitchy.” Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker nodded.

“Twitchy,” Ratchet said, injecting the syringe-full of coolant into one of Aid’s coolant lines. 

“My proximity alerts keep triggering, and I have to keep shutting them down. Normally when they go off this much it means I need to kill something.” 

Ratchet raised his optic ridges at this but he kept silent. 

“So yeah, twitchy.” Sidewipe wondered suddenly if that was something he shouldn’t have shared. Smooth move, give them more ammunition to regard he and Sunstreaker as not quite stable. This was Ratchet, though. They could trust Ratchet. And Optimus, and Ironhide. They could. 

“What about you?” Ratchet asked Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe answered for his brother. “Oh he’s twitchier than I am, but he’s better at hiding it.” 

Sunstreaker growled wordlessly. 

"I'm...not sure I realized what I was asking of you," Ratchet said, with a touch of contrition in his expression. Realization rather than concern, and something in Sideswipe relaxed a little.

“Nah, it's ok, we can cope," Sideswipe shrugged one shoulder and changed the subject quickly. "Do gestalts really recharge like this? All crammed together?” Sideswipe asked curiously, not quite believing it was possible. 

“They do indeed.” Ratchet snorted at some memory. “Makes it a slaggin’ pain whenever one of them gets hurt. Five of them, all together in the medbay, all wanting on the same berth. The Protectobots never gave me much trouble though, other than recharging on my floor all the time.” Ratchets optics softened as he looked at his assistant. 

“And the two of you have been more trouble than both gestalts put together, I’ll have you know,” Ratchet looked at them both sternly, though there was a glint in his optics that might have been humor. “You should be very proud.” 

Sideswipe was proud, as a matter of fact, but didn’t have a snappy reply handy. He was too busy trying to wrap his processor around the idea of First Aid, quiet, unremarkable, fade-into-the-background medbay assistant, being part of one of the only two Autobot gestalt teams. Though that explained Ratchet and Ironhide's protectiveness. They, along with Wheeljack and several other ‘bots had helped design the Protectobots, had probably been there from the time they were onlined. Like creators. Sideswipe assumed he and Sunny must have had creators, at some point, but he didn’t remember them, and Sunstreaker was always silent on the subject.

“He was really part of Defensor,” he said aloud.

Ratchet nodded. “He was. He’s not spoken of his brothers since they were lost. I’m surprised…well, maybe not. That it was you two he…started to speak of them, at any rate. I wish I knew if this is a good thing or not.” Ratchet sighed.

“How is it he’s still alive?” Sideswipe asked. That was the one great weakness of gestalts, and of all spark-linked mechs, the same as their strength – their deep connections to one another, so great that if one died the rest were likely to follow, or so rumor said. Sideswipe couldn’t imagine going on without Sunstreaker, didn’t want to imagine it. “What happened to his brothers? The songs never say. And why the slag does he have electrowhip scars on his back? He’s still a sparkling, for Primus’ sake,” he added indignantly.

Ratchet didn’t answer at first, pulling out the other object he’d brought with him – light shield plating - and quickly reworking it into a temporary visor for Sideswipe, much more basic than First Aid’s, without its integrated medical functions and scanning capabilities, but of the same general format.

“There,” he said, as he fitted it to Sideswipe’s helm. “You match.” Sideswipe felt the difference almost immediately, faint discomfort he hadn’t even realized was there fading as his optics adjusted, only slightly darker than the already-dimmed lighting, but it would stay at that level even when the lights were back to full strength.

“You’ll need to wear it for at least the next three orns, to give your optics time to recover.” Sideswipe felt the tingle of Ratchet’s medical scans. “I think Aid caught it in time so there won’t be any permanent damage, but I want to see you next cycle in the medbay and we'll get some mag-wave treatments started.” 

Ratchet settled back next to them on the berth, brushing a hand gently over First Aid’s helm. “I'm not sure where to begin,” he said, looking down at his assistant with a pensive expression. “First Aid has always been…resilient, but it’s a bit of a miracle that he is…the way he is.” Not deactivated, Ratchet meant. Not completely glitched with grief. “You don’t remember, do you.”

Sideswipe gave him a puzzled look.

“You brought him back, when his brothers were deactivated. Or he came back for you. You and your brother. You saved one another. I’m not surprised you don’t remember; you were both in pretty bad shape.” 

“When was this?” Sideswipe asked, transferring his puzzled look to his brother as Sunstreaker went strangely still in the bond.

“The first time you showed up on my doorstep, with Sunstreaker here in the last stages of Cybonic Plague and you in scarcely better shape. Luckily for you both, we had a cure.” Ratchet let out a small sigh through his vents, looking down at his recharging assistant. “Thanks to Aid and his brothers. They developed an anti-virus, and just in time.”

Sunstreaker lifted his optic ridges in surprise and Sideswipe said, “Wait, First Aid cured Cybonic Plague?" He'd always assumed it was Perceptor. "Why doesn’t anyone know about this? He's a hero, he should be...famous, or something." Not hiding away, overlooked in the Ark’s medbay. 

“It was the one thing he asked of us, after his brothers were lost. To be left...alone. Not that we’ve let him get away with it entirely, but...'hero' would be a heavy burden to bear, on top of everything else he carries. I’m trusting you not to abuse this knowledge.” Ratchet gave them both a stern glare, and Sideswipe nodded reluctantly.

“He was there,” Sunstreaker said slowly, optic ridges drawn sharply together in concentration. Sideswipe could feel him reaching, dredging up an image from somewhere deep in his memory banks of First Aid gripping him, visor a bright streak of blue, saying something in a raw broken voice entirely unlike his usual soft tone. “I remember, a little. Sideswipe was dying. I was dying. We were...all of us, we were dying.”

Ratchet nodded, giving Sunstreaker a considering look. “Sideswipe was critically injured defending the medbay. I was trying to stabilize him, but his spark was failing. We’d given you both the anti-virus, but it had been almost too late for you. You were barely clinging to life, but you woke up when Sideswipe started going downhill and were going to deactivate yourself trying to get to him. First Aid...had just lost his brothers. I thought he was already gone, or nearly so.”

“He found the cure for Cybonic Plague but was too late to save them?” Sideswipe conjectured, but Ratchet was shaking his head.

“No, they didn’t die of the plague. Some of the Protectobots were indeed infected, but they’d been treated with the anti-virus were showing signs of recovery. Aid...was captured. His jailer was…very ill, experiencing severe processor malfunctions. He'd actually survived the plague, but was experiencing one of the rarer complications. Thought Aid was a traitor, went after him with an electrowhip for information.” Ratchet sighed, deeply. “His brothers…went a little crazy, understandably, and tried to break him out, were captured in turn, sent to Moonbase One prison facility. On the way there the guards relented, and let the Protectobots take a shuttle back to Cybertron, but it was destroyed by one of Shockwave's experimental constructions. There was nothing left...we...” Ratchet’s voice faltered a little. 

"I was too late, we were all too late. We didn't even have time to mourn them. I brought First Aid back, but his systems were shutting down even in deep stasis. The medbay was under attack and you were both dying, and then there he was. Awake. Holding Sunstreaker to life with his bare hands. You both stabilized. Reinforcements arrived. And First Aid went around repairing the wounded like..." Ratchet shook his head. "He asked Silverbolt to take him to a high place, to be alone, and I was sure he'd...but he didn't. He came back to us. I can't explain what happened, but you two were part of it, the reason he's still with us. So thank you." Ratchet smiled at them, sad but almost...fondly?

They both squirmed uncomfortably. Although Sideswipe would have given up his auxiliary weapons systems to have Ratchet look at him like that earlier, he didn't feel like he'd earned it. "For what?" Sideswipe muttered, "almost dying?"

Ratchet chuckled. "Among other things." 

The cycle had been full of surprises. Apparently their lives had been previously entwined with First Aid not once, but twice.

//Three times// Sunstreaker sent. //Without him we'd both have died from the plague. We _owe_ him, bro//

Sideswipe was silent, watching the recharging medic. Who could ever have imagined? He’d been through so much, but there he was, every cycle, cheerful and hardworking in the medbay, taking care of them all like…like that was all he’d ever wanted. And what had Sideswipe given in return? The twinge of guilt he’d been feeling ever since he’d watched Aid leaking out on the medbay floor returned fourfold. 

Ratchet was checking First Aid's vitals again, and made a pleased sound. "His systems are stabilizing nicely. In fact, this is the deepest level of recharge I’ve seen him get to in a long time. Do you think you can stand this a while longer?”

“We’ll take care of him, Ratchet,” he said, feeling a strange determination well through him. He wouldn’t let anything else bad happen to First Aid, not while he was around. “We’ll stay with until he wakes up again, if that will help.” He felt Sunstreaker’s wordless agreement and was glad of it, felt a welling of gratitude for his twin’s supportive presence. The wall at his back. 

“I can trust you two miscreants with him?” Ratchet asked, almost making a joke of it, but he was honestly asking as well. This isn’t a joke to you is it? 

“Our word on it, Ratchet. We’ll watch over him.” That was Sunstreaker, meeting Ratchet’s gaze directly, holding it for a long time with his own serious blue glare. 

“Very well then. My thanks. Again.” Ratchet gave them a quick smile and then got up from the berth with a faint creaking of servos, giving First Aid one last gentle pat. “I’ll be in the medbay, don’t hesitate to comm. if you need anything.” 

Once Ratchet exited, with a soft swish of the door behind him, Sideswipe squirmed around a little more to get comfortable. He wasn’t quite ready to recharge yet, although the idea was starting to sound attractive. It was like guard duty, he decided. Boring, but he’d learned to let his processor drift while still keeping all his senses alert and active. And this wasn’t so bad, though it was worse for Sunstreaker. Close proximity like this wasn’t his thing, but he seemed to be coping well so far. 

//I’m fine, Sides. I’ll go destroy something later// 

Sideswipe smirked. That was Sunstreaker humor, his own particular brand. Only Sideswipe ever got to hear it though. His processor moved into a familiar circuit, if only Sunny would open up a little more, let out some of the humor and animation Sideswipe got to see, maybe then other mechs wouldn’t be so uneasy around him. Sunstreaker firmly ignored Sideswipe’s nudging. It was an old game. 

Sunstreaker had powered down his optics and was resting, in the way he did sometimes, thinking nothing, suspended in their mind-space like a hovering cyberhawk. Sideswipe found himself watching his brother’s face. The shape of it, like something out of an old Cybertronian ballad, the fierceness there, subdued for now, like a banked forgefire. He hadn’t always been that way, Sideswipe knew. He didn’t remember details, those memories were before the dark places in his processor, and he didn’t know where to find them, but he knew Sunstreaker had once worn other expressions, long ago. 

He shifted his gaze to First Aid’s face, with an effort. He’d always thought the medic a plain, boxy bot, built for utility and not much else, but he found now, especially with his face mask retracted, that First Aid...really wasn’t all that bad. There was a neatness there, in the curve of his lips and molding of his noseplates. Nothing fancy, but…not unappealing. His expression had relaxed from the distressed frown of earlier, and now there was the faintest sweet tilt to the ends of First Aid’s lips. Smiling, mysteriously, like he had a secret. What was the secret, Sideswipe wondered, his processor beginning to slide into recharge. Why was he smiling, after all he had been through?

Sideswipe drifted, First Aid's smile becoming Defensor's, although the combiner had not been smiling when he had lifted Sideswipe from his cell. Sideswipe had been more than half-mad then, separated from Sunstreaker for who knows how many vorns, but he remembered Defensor's face...

~~~~~~~

Just like that, he was free. Chained in his cell, powered down to a bare minimum of awareness to conserve fuel, Sideswipe had heard the commotion, explosions, sounds of battle, and had not even cared. A change of overseers, a bit of new variety for the torment was all it meant, or maybe a quick deactivation. He would have hoped for the last, if he could remember how to hope any more. There was a vast creaking groan, the walls shuddered, and light flooded his optics, making him wince. It really wasn’t all that bright, just the normal glow of Cybertron in waking cycle, but in comparison to the dim gloom of the underchambers it was blinding. 

Some vast shadow loomed over him, blocking the light again, making him press his back against the harsh broken wall of the back of his cell (he knew every crag, every dent in that wall, memorized, how long had he been here? how long how long). Something…something lifted the chains binding him, carefully and precisely, and with a faint crunch they were crushed, the stasis cuffs falling away as they lost power. Hand. That was a hand, as big as his head, attached to an arm and beyond…Sideswipe tilted his head back, astonished beyond alarm. All he felt was a strange sort of calm as the massive hand was joined by another, gently cupped between them he was lifted out, above (below him the roofless wall of his cell, all the others all in a row all in a row and here we go, oh Primus, here we go). 

Gestalt, he thought in awe, seeing the great helm, the large deep optics. This was a gestalt being. He had never seen one, but he had felt the ground tremble, seen the damage after Menosaur had decided to throw a temper tantrum in the gladiator pits long ago. This being could crush him with a careless thought, but he was handled as carefully and reverently as a vial of fine high grade at a tasting party in the Towers.

The hand stayed near him for support as he was set on the ground. He wavered and then remembered what balance was, that he had two feet and that he could stand on them. 

“Wait here a moment, please. You'll be safe, and you need medical attention,” the gestalt being said, his voice deep, but not heavy – it rumbled lightly in his audios, made gentle by kindness. "I am Defensor. What is your name?" Sideswipe didn’t answer. He was out of the cell. He could move now, no stasis cuffs. He could find…yellow. His other half. His processor gave him a face, a shape and a color, but not a name. Only a relentless aching drive to FIND him, be whole again. It had been so long. He turned, like a compass needle…there. That way. Sideswipe ran, ignoring the pain as he forced stiff joints and struts into motion. He ran until there was something solid and unyielding in his way. He flung himself over and over again at the wall, door, gate, whatever it was. It didn’t even tremble under the impact.

The massive hand was back, holding him. Sideswipe yelled in frustration, grabbing one of the fingers and alternately yanking and pushing, trying to force his way out. 

“You’re hurting yourself, please stop.” 

“GO! Let me… _out._ Now.” It was hard to remember how to talk. Like a reasoning being. He hadn’t had occasion to do more than scream, yell taunts, for so long. 

“Why do you need in there?”

“HIM. He’s in there. Let…let me-” Sideswipe struggled futilely.

“Who? Who’s in there?”

“Brother. My…” Sideswipe lost words, snarled incoherently. The gestalt’s optics flared brightly with some emotion. The hand released him suddenly and he was free again. But blocked. Blocked from his goal. A giant leg as the gestalt knelt, examining the structure in front of him. 

“I can’t get in there without bringing it down; the whole building is unstable. But here-” The voice, the words, Sideswipe forced himself to listen long enough to understand them. There was a groan of stressed metal and then a sharp crack. The gestalt lifted something…door…over his head and laid it on the ground.

“Be careful. I’ll wait for you.” The gestalt stood again, watching Sideswipe with an intent expression that made him shift nervously, before he darted into the now-open entry to the gladiator holding cells.

It was dim again, inside. His optics took bare kliks to readjust as he moved, following the tug on his spark unerringly. The walls were rusted, the floor littered with unspeakable debris. It had looked different, when it had been his home. It had been always been rough, but it had not been this terrible before. There should have been guards, but he met no one until he reached the holding cells. One, dangerous looking. Pulse rifle aimed. The guards used to be their friends, but not anymore. Sideswipe charged, straight into the line of fire. He tore the rifle out of the guard’s grasp, wedged it into a gap of the armor and fired and then ran. Forward. Up and Forward. There. THERE. Close close close so close. There were several mechs in the holding cell. Sideswipe got the door open, he didn’t remember how. Nothing was going to stop him now, not so close, it had been so long so long but he knew, he remembered…yellow. He was looking for a yellow mech, but none of these were…there? No. The pale blue mech, maybe-yellow in the dimness, looked away uneasily from Sideswipe’s not-quite-sane gaze. The mechs in the holding cell were hardened fighters, all of them, but they were frozen as Sideswipe stalked about with the rifle, not daring to move. 

He was drawn to the corner, the tugging in his spark leading him there. The mech leaning there was gray though, not yellow. There was a space around him, a distance from the other fighters in the cell. Sideswipe paused in front of him and icy blue optics brightened, glaring, hot, or cold, perhaps. It was hard to tell. The mech grinned, baring sharpened denta.

“Kill you,” the not-yellow mech said, deep and growling. 

“You,” Sideswipe answered, also growling. “You.” 

He moved closer and the mech’s hands rose and locked around his throat. The sharp talons were gentle against the thin armor there, in anticipation, not tenderness.

“You. You are _mine._ ” Sideswipe pressed forward. The talons dug deeper, he strained until their chestplates brushed together, his hands rose around the other’s throat in turn, stroking.

“Ha.” The other smiled, like death descending. “I am Weapon. You die.”

“Mine. _Mine._ ” Sideswipe pressed forward, insistent, the siren call in his spark maddening, the pressure on his throat cables rising to agony. THERE, he was right there. Brother. Sunstreaker.

“Sunstreaker. You.” His vocalizer was glitching, but he forced the words out through static. 

“Weapon. I am _Weapon._ ” The pressure increased yet again. There was something trickling down his neck. Everything went white, then dark. 

“Sunstreaker.” He pulled with his hands, wrapped around other neck, giving him leverage to pull himself closer and the talons sank deeper and that was ok, they would be one. “Sunstreaker.” His voice was failing. “Sun…” 

Time had passed. He wasn’t sure how much time, he only knew that now he was on the floor when before he had been standing. His neck screamed hot fire at him when he moved. Images had been starting to form, but they fizzled out again with the pain, then slowly coalesced. Blue optics, staring at him. Sunstreaker, crouched nearby like a brooding statue, an ancient relic of Old Cybertron. His spark leapt. Sunstreaker stared, unblinking. 

“Sunstreaker,” he croaked, rolling weakly to his side and struggling until his arms obeyed him, levered him up to sitting. He dragged himself closer, but paused, as something in those optics cried warning. He could feel it though, that other spark, singing to him. He almost wept at the torment, so close, just out of reach. 

“I am Weapon,” the other said, voice almost as hoarse as his own. 

“No. You are Sunstreaker.” Yellow. He was supposed to be yellow. There was not much that Sideswipe was certain of any more, but that he knew. The other, his brother, his armor…Sideswipe’s optics were suddenly fully focused. Score marks, slashes from talons, near misses from pulse rifles, shock weapons, electrowhips, like the surface of a pounding anvil in a forge. No color nanites left. He reached out to touch. 

“Kill you,” the other warned, but it sounded almost cheerful this time. Sideswipe touched. Sunstreaker bared his teeth again in that deadly grin. “Watch it,” he warned. “Watch out, or you’re dead. Rip your spark out,” he crooned, but did not move as Sideswipe lifted his arm. “Rip it right out.” 

Sideswipe slowly rotated the arm. There. On the inside, shielded from harm. Yellow. 

“Sunstreaker,” he said. The other spark was pulsing now, he could feel it, fast fast fast in his own spark, making a staccato rhythm to his thoughts. You are mine and I am yours, we are together and parts of the whole, always at my side, I am always at your side, I watch your back, remember? We are one, we are two, we are together, I found you, _at last_ … 

Sunstreaker went still, watching Sideswipe’s face. //I see it// 

Sideswipe shuddered, as the bond between them opened, like a cracking energon line, leaking slowly at first and then pulsing wider, harder, unstoppable now. 

//I see it// Sunstreaker thought again, and though the words were cryptic Sideswipe _understood_ , felt the meaning under the words forming in the very core of his spark. Sunstreaker saw the yellow bit of armor, small and bright, even in the dimness, hidden under his arm. Not with his optics. He could see it in Sideswipe’s mind.

//You are Sunstreaker//

//I am…//

//Sunstreaker//

//Sunstreaker//

//Brother//

//…yes// Sunstreaker’s thought was faint, almost despair, almost hope. Sideswipe gripped him tightly, arm and mind. 

//Come. Come out of this place// 

Sideswipe stood, staggering. Sunstreaker moved back, away, out of reach, but his mind stayed near and so Sideswipe did not protest. He moved forward and the other followed. The holding cell was empty, but Sideswipe did not pause to wonder where the rest had gone. No one else mattered. 

//Sideswipe?// The thought came from behind him, tentative and triumphant all at once.

//Yes!// Joy leapt through Sideswipe, startling. It felt like pain, at first, until he realized what it was. 

“You look different,” Sunstreaker said aloud, his voice like rough shards of steel. Sideswipe felt a grim sort of amusement through the bond, the emotion both familiar and changed, all at once, like so many things seemed to be now. Every emotion, every sensation, had become a paradox, he wasn’t sure when.

“I look different? You’re the one with the missing paint job,” he snorted. The grim amusement sharpened, he heard a husk of sound that might have been a chuckle from behind him. 

“Not for long.” A low growl, death and promises. They stepped in time. Binary star system, their sparks in orbit – wobbly as yet, but stabilizing. 

No one stopped them. They went through the hole that was once a door, into the light. The combiner was waiting, optics narrowed in concern. Ah yes, Sideswipe remembered. Defensor. He had promised to wait. Sunstreaker bristled behind him. 

“You have him? Your brother?” the gestalt asked. If they ran, this creature could outpace them with one mighty step.

Sideswipe nodded. "Yes." They had no weapons other than the pulse rifle he had taken from the guard, no supplies, but they were together. Nothing would separate them again, not even a gestalt with an…Autobot logo. Oh yes, he had heard tales of the Autobots, none of them good. 

“Over by that tower, we have medical aid. Let me take you there.” 

Sideswipe shook his head, backing away slightly, his brother (his _brother_ ) matching him, moving in tandem. The gestalt looked around his feet carefully first (so he won’t step on anyone! One corner of Sideswipe’s mind was giggling in completely irrational hysteria. He’s worried he might step on someone, nearly three spans tall and he’s trying to be careful…for some reason this was unbelievable, hilarious. He felt Sunstreaker’s puzzlement at his response) and then crouched down in front of Sideswipe.

“We’ll not keep you, or ask anything else of you. You’ll be free to go after you’ve been treated, I promise. Your brother needs help, you need help,” the gestalt said gently, hands moving towards them ever so slightly, just enough to be an invitation, not so much Sideswipe worried about being grabbed. The genuine kindness in those optics unnerved him more than anything else so far. There was a trap here, there had to be; he just couldn’t see it. 

“Hey, big guy, we need you over here!” a black-armored mech waved from the next building. “We’ve got mechs trapped.” 

Sideswipe took advantage of the opportunity, running as fast as he could the other way, not a backward glance, on legs that should be wavery, but weren’t. He felt strong and swift, with his brother, whole again, he could think again. It was almost like being alive, he thought, and it all made perfect sense. Sunstreaker outpaced him, seeming to know where he was going. A mech moved in their direction, friend or foe, Sideswipe wasn’t sure, but Sunstreaker didn’t hesitate, veering suddenly with intent to kill. 

//NO!// Sideswipe sent, a shout of reflex.

//Suit yourself// Sunstreaker veered back to his previous path. His mind was dark, inscrutable. It frightened Sideswipe, a little. His own mind frightened Sideswipe, quite a lot. The mech, another Autobot, blinked bemusedly at them as they went by, a touch of fear in his gaze. Sideswipe caught up, they jogged, same pace, trading feral grins. Bound to one another once again, they needed no one but themselves. They were free.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet's turn to remember the not-so-good days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for allusions to suicide, of the "gestalt member trying to carry on alone" variety. Major angst! Tissue warning! Links to traumatic-but-happy P-bot reunion at the end!

First Aid woke from recharge slowly, feeling the familiar pain and stiffness in his joints, vestiges of the long-ago disrupter blast, the ever-present ache in his spark as it pulsed irregularly, searching, endlessly, for its four missing partners, the newer pain deep through his back and side where the spear had gone. He cycled air through his intakes carefully, slowly, until it eased. Moving was harder than usual, due to the substantial red and yellow frontliners pressed on either side of him. First Aid carefully extracted himself without waking them.

He smiled a little, watching them, face mask closing automatically to guard the expression. They looked so peaceful, lying there in recharge, those two fearsome warriors. Sideswipe looked unfamiliar with the darkness of the temporary visor shielding his optics. First Aid checked it gently, making sure it was well-placed and doing its job. Not that he doubted Ratchet, but they both checked and rechecked one another as a matter of course.

He felt…better. Better than he had in a long time, despite the nagging pains, old and new.

 _Awake?_ Ratchet commed him, alerted by the remote monitors that First Aid’s systems were no longer in recharge.

_Yes, Ratchet. Can I come back to work now?_

_Come back yes, work no._

First Aid sighed sadly.

 _I heard that,_ Ratchet scolded. _If you won’t rest I may have to exile you permanently to the twins’ care, until you’re fully recovered. They still in recharge?_

 _Yes._ First Aid smiled again at them fondly.

_They took good care of you, kind of surprised me. You needed that. Might have to recruit them,‘till we get back to the other five airheads._

_Ratchet…_ First Aid started.

_No arguing. I let you have your way far too much you know. You’re just going to have to cope with me on this one. Need help getting back?_

First Aid had already exited the twins’ quarters and was making his way down the hallway, slow and a little wobbly still. _I’ll let you know. So far, so good. Whoops-_ First Aid wavered sideways a few steps and paused a moment to regain his balance.

_Hmm, I’ll meet you halfway._

_Can I at least have my xenobiology datapads back?_

“One datapad,” Ratchet said as he met up with his assistant in the corridor and gently took his arm. First Aid gave him a small huffed sigh but did not argue. “And you do not fix or clean anything. You had a very close call this time, Aid.”

“I shouldn’t be alive,” Aid murmured softly, “again.”

“Aid…” Ratchet paused and pulled First Aid into a careful embrace, there in the middle of the corridor. First Aid endured it for a moment, nudging Ratchet’s helm with his own quickly before pulling away.

“I’m ok, Ratch. Really.”

Ratchet sighed, examining him closely. First Aid’s facemask was up again, but he did seem…ok. Seemed, was the operative word. His systems were healing, slowly. He didn’t bounce back the way he used to (and that spark pulse worried him, but there was no saying whether it was worse or better than before), but physically, he was healing. It was the parts he couldn’t scan, couldn’t monitor that worried him.

“The twins helped,” Ratchet said, making it not-quite a question. Of all strange developments, to find those two looking out for Aid had to be among the strangest.

First Aid nodded, not meeting his gaze. He was still wobbly, still unstable under Ratchet’s grasp as they continued walking down the corridor, but his engine wasn’t running nearly as hard as it had earlier. 

“Poor twins,” First Aid said softly. “I really don’t think that’s their thing.” He met Ratchet’s optics for a moment, and Ratchet felt his spark lift at the twinkle of humor there. It floored him, as always, that First Aid could be so…the way he was, after everything. Steady as one of Grapple’s towers, anchored somewhere deep where no one could see. Most of the time. He never worried about First Aid during battles, when there were wounded. It was only every now and then, when there was a rare period of quiet. He’d worried for Aid on this mission, so long away from the Aerialbots, as one crisis after another turned what had originally been scheduled as a brief, two-orn journey into a nearly two-vorn one. 

They’d kept busy enough, to be true, no shortage of battles and disasters, and Ratchet felt guiltily and oddly almost grateful for them. First Aid had applied himself industriously to his studies of organic and techno-organic medicine during down times, but his recharge levels dropped to worrisome levels, and he grew quieter than was even his usual wont, and once he found First Aid, in the empty medbay, in front of the storage cabinets hand pressed lightly against the door, not responding when Ratchet said his name at first. Ratchet took his arm then and turned him, and his visor flickered and then he seemed to be fine, but...there were so many deadly drugs in there, in the right dose, Ratchet could not help but think. And First Aid knew them all.

Ratchet had been ready to approach Ultra Magnus about risking the return to Cybertron, for Aid’s sake, but then he had been so badly injured, and now there was this new development with the twins.

“How do you feel?” he asked First Aid. He knew what his scanners said, but that wasn’t what he was after.

“Better,” Aid replied. “Still tired, a little.”

“That’s physically, how about mentally? You were pretty upset last night.”

First Aid shrugged.

“That’s the first time you’ve talked about them, you know.” Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was a mistake, bringing up Aid’s lost brothers, but…it seemed a cruel circumstance, that the only way First Aid could cope with their loss was to never speak of them. They’d been so close. He’d always hoped that one day Aid would be able to access and find comfort in remembering and talking about them, and maybe this was a start?

“I know.” First Aid took another several careful steps and then they paused again to rest. “I know, Ratchet,” he said, tilting his helm up to meet Ratchet’s optics finally. “I know you worry, and that you…miss them. Too.”

“Yeah,” Ratchet murmured, feeling his vocalizer catch with memories. “Yeah, Aid, I do.” He left it at that, patting First Aid’s hand and continuing in silence. Maybe First Aid wasn’t the only one not ready to face the past.

“I had the strangest memory purge while I was recharging,” Aid said, as they turned the final stretch to the medbay. 

“Not a bad one, I hope.” With First Aid’s light and fractured recharge cycles, it was rare he entered levels deep enough to experience memory purges. Given his history, that might not be a bad thing, although Ratchet had never known Aid to mention nightmares. 

“No, it was just strange. Somehow, Sideswipe was the Prime, and Sunstreaker was his Lord High Protector.”

“Primus forfend!” Ratchet gave First Aid a horrified look. “Sounds like a nightmare to me!” 

“Not at all,” First Aid laughed. “They were actually...really sort of. Well. Wonderful.”

“Ha! Now I’m definitely going to have to check your processor.” Ratchet gave the junior medic an amused look. If First Aid were older Ratchet would’ve said he was smitten with the two frontliners, in subtle First Aid fashion, of course. 

By the time they arrived at the medbay, First Aid was lagging a bit, but Ratchet was pleased to see him otherwise holding up well, moving without undue pain or overheating. Ratchet helped First Aid up to a berth and hooked him up to an energon drip (his ruptured tank was still healing, not ready to process fuel yet), and gave him another injection of heavy duty painkillers and electrical system dampeners, though Aid gave him a resigned look, knowing it would slow his processor and leave him woozy without necessarily helping him recharge, not anymore. 

He handed Aid one of his organic biology datapads (Ventaxian reproductive methods) with a warning look to stay put, “and no thinking too hard, either,” Ratchet added, mock scolding. Aid gave him an innocent tilt of the helm and curled himself contentedly to read and make notes, though Ratchet caught him staring once at an untidy pile of temp-plating scraps on the floor that had yet to be swept and cleared his vocalizer in warning. First Aid sighed and went back to his datapad. When Ratchet checked back on him a few breems later he was recharging lightly, all systems on the monitor edging nicely into acceptable limits, where several had still been in the caution zone before. Ratchet smiled, and then found his optics filling unexpectedly with fluid, swallowing grief as he remembered First Aid on a different berth, back on Cybertron, monitors headed sharply in the other direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of Wheeljack on the other end of the transmission, barely keeping his composure, made Ratchet’s own spark clench painfully.

“I’m on my way, Ratchet. I’ll be there as…as soon as...as soon as Skydive’s energon pressure comes up a little more, it will be safe to leave him.”

“Wheeljack…he’ll be gone before you get here.” So hard to say, but it was only the truth. “We’re on full alert, anyway. It’s not safe.”

“Have you tried…”

“I’ve tried everything. He’s not responding. And I don’t know if, even if I could, with the rest of them gone if it’s kinder to…” Ratchet’s vocalizer caught painfully and he couldn’t continue. You would think, with as much death as he’d seen this would be easier. But this was different.

“He’s…he’s very quiet now,” Ratchet said, haltingly, vocalizer still shaky. “It won’t be long.” In truth First Aid had been quiet since it had happened. Frantic just before, knowing something was going terribly wrong, a soft, agonized sound, and then…he’d gone so still, so quiet, and Ratchet had known even before he’d gotten confirmation from Prowl. First Aid had put a gentle hand on Ratchet’s arm.

“They’re gone, Ratchet,” First Aid said, in the same steady, compassionate voice that he used to tell a patient that his friend had not survived. Soft but unflinching. “Tell Prowl to tell the Aerialbots come back home, and thank you for trying. They’re gone.”

He’d made no other sound after that, just crumpled in on himself, Ratchet holding him in numb shock, with his scanners bleeping urgent warning as First Aid’s spark tried to rip itself into shreds inside his chassis. Now the junior medic was…very still, systems shutting down one by one.

Wheeljack was sobbing. He heard one of the Aerialbots, briefly, a broken sound of grief. They’d tried to save them, had nearly lost Skydive doing so as he exceeded his operational limits, trying to escape Cybertron’s atmosphere to reach the Protectobots’ shuttle. Ratchet was silent, for a long while.

“I’ll stay with him,” he said, drawing air through his intakes, slow and steady. He placed a hand on the red-and-white helm. “I won’t let him die alone.”

“Tell him…I love him and …so proud, so proud of him. And I’m sorry...I couldn’t…” Wheeljack’s voice choked off.

“I’ll tell him ‘Jack,” Ratchet whispered. “I know, I’ll tell him.” It was unbearable. He couldn’t take any more of this, he just couldn’t. Ratchet cut the transmission. Wheeljack had put his spark and soul into the Protectobots. The part of him not stunned with grief was deeply worried for his friend. He had the Aerialbots with him; he hoped they could find some comfort together.

He brushed a hand over First Aid’s limp form, before going to check the other patients in the medbay. Cybonic Plague victims, mostly. All recovering, but one. (Thanks to the Protectobots and their antivirus, he thought, spark stabbing him painfully again with grief, so much promise, so many lives they’d saved, and then this…never any mercy in this war, never, and he wasn’t sure why he did this anymore).

The one he was still worried about, an imposing yellow warrior model, was holding steady, clinging to life just barely, but at least he wasn’t getting worse. The virus was controlled, by whatever program the Protectobots had concocted (and Ratchet still didn’t have the slightest clue how it worked, it was like no other antivirus he’d ever seen). If his systems could rally from the damage already done, he might recover fully. He’d arrived carried by an equally imposing red mech, neither of them with faction markings, also hit by the virus but not nearly so badly. The red mech was suspicious and…almost feral. Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was safe, allowing them in the medbay, but he’d never turned a patient away and Primus be damned if he was going to start now. By the way the red mech hovered over his friend he wondered if they were bonded, but neither of them were remotely old enough. The yellow mech was somewhat the younger, but they were both no more that a few hundred vorns older than the Aerialbots.

Ratchet completed his checks and then settled himself next to First Aid. To wait. It wouldn’t be long, the lines on the scanner wandered uncertainly now, wavering between life and death. He answered the medbay comm screen by reflex.

_We’ve got incoming wounded, Ratchet. There’s a line of fighting moving towards you; we need you to triage and evacuate whoever you can. ETA six point four breems_

_Slag, no! Not now! Take them to someone else, I’m not…_

_Ratchet, I’m sorry,_ Jazz’s expression was hidden by the visor, his voice sad but hard-edged. _There is no one else._

He’d told Wheeljack he wouldn’t leave him. Ratchet disconnected First Aid from the monitors--he didn’t need them telling him what he already knew--and moved him to a corner berth, where it would be quiet.

“I was waiting for you to come back before I tried this out. Safer that way.” Ratchet knew First Aid probably couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter. He placed one of Wheeljack’s latest inventions, a tri-beam medical welder, in Aid’s hand and wrapped the lax fingers around it.

“Thought it would be good to have another medic around, you know. Just in case it didn’t work as advertised. Hang on to it for me, kiddo, ok?” Ratchet rested a hand on his helm, one last time, and then there was no time for grieving. And if nothing else would have convinced him, First Aid lying still and unresponsive in the chaos of the arriving wounded convinced him of the reality. He was really leaving them, joining his brothers in the Matrix. Ratchet’s spark broke again at the thought of them, the other four, so young and so joyful in their purpose, in their bonds with one another, even in the midst of war. Gone.

_Ratchet, you need to evacuate, everyone, and get out of there yourself, now._

_I can’t, Jazz._ He’d already sent most of the virus victims, triaged the incoming wounded and repaired what couldn’t wait and sent them off. The only ones remaining were the red and yellow warriors, the red one refusing to leave his friend, and First Aid, still and quiet on his berth. _I’ve got a critical patient here; if I move him he’ll die._

The red warrior, silent and brooding, withdrawn, until then, raised his head, listening.

_I can make that an order._

_I can override. I’m. Not. Leaving._

The red warrior was watching him now, staring at Ratchet like he was an atmospheric anomaly of some sort.

“What?” he snapped, not in the mood to be stared at.

Jazz gave a frustrated sigh. _Ok, I’m sending reinforcements to hold them off, but they’re not going to be in time._

_The ‘Cons will stay out of my medbay if they know what’s good for them._

Jazz chuckled, despite himself. _I don’t doubt it. Good luck, Ratchet…and…about the Protectobots…I’m so sorry._

 _Thanks,_ Ratchet said tightly, cutting the transmission.

“I have weapons,” the red warrior said, standing, transforming some formidable-looking dual blasters. “I’ll hold them off.”

Ratchet eyed him doubtfully. He was recovering, but Ratchet estimated he was still only operating at quarter strength from his own bout with the virus. The red warrior noticed his expression and suddenly his grim-serious expression of a battle-hardened warrior turned into a grin, an impish optic-twinkling expression that made him look his age, and suddenly reminded him painfully of a certain Protectobot scout.

Ratchet blinked, and the red warrior gave him an insouciant wink, followed by a nod that somehow managed to convey a hint of wondering respect, and ducked out the medbay entrance, weapons at ready.

He went to check the yellow mech again, condition unchanged, and then, reluctantly, not wanting to face the inevitable, First Aid. The junior medic’s intakes were still cycling faintly. Not dead. Still clinging to life, just barely. Ratchet ducked his head with something like relief, although he didn’t know what he was hoping for. He was just prolonging the agony, drawing out the pain in his spark, it would be kinder for it to just be over, but somehow, finding Aid still alive, he felt a sad relief.

Commotion and the sound of weapon fire outside drew his attention. The ‘Cons must have arrived. No one was going to get to his patients. No one was going to disturb First Aid’s final moments. Ratchet powered up his big saw and went to join the red warrior.

“You’re not half bad!”

“What?” Ratchet replied, distractedly, digging a crumpled chunk of armor out of his saw.

“Pretty good at this, for a medic,” the red warrior yelled, over his shoulder, from behind the improvised barricade they’d erected.

“Thanks, I think,” Ratchet yelled back, some time later. “What’s your name, anyway?” Just in case he had to yell to get his attention or something. Might be good to know. He looked over when there was no answer to find the red warrior sprawled on his back, staring at the sky and looking dazed. “Frag.”

Ratchet scrambled over. The mech’s chest was a smoking ruin. Ratchet dragged him into the medbay and dug through his cabinets until he found his stash of high grade. He mixed it with a few select chemicals from the medicine cabinet then put the whole mess in the medbay doors, activating the warrior’s blaster to set off a Wheeljack-worthy explosion. The ceiling did not fall down on them, thankfully (Grapple and the Protectobots had reinforced it after the last time). He then hauled the red mech up onto a berth. He was too limp, too unresisting. Not a good sign.

Ratchet opened what remained of the chest armor and drew in air through his intakes sharply. The spark chamber was cracked, there was energon leaking everywhere, and his spark was flickering ominously. Slag. Ratchet triggered life support on the berth, and began hooking up transfusion lines and a spark regulator.

“Sideswipe.” Ratchet lifted his optics to meet dim ones, staring at him with a sort of weary admiration. “Name’s Sideswipe,” he mumbled again, “nice explosion,” before his optics flickered once and went offline again.

“Hang in there, Sideswipe,” he gritted out as he quickly sealed off leaking energon lines. The rubble of the doorway shook as something tried to blast it from the other side. Sideswipe’s spark wasn’t stabilizing, the severity of his injuries, exertion from holding off the invading Decepticons, and half-repaired damage from the virus joining in a deadly three way combination.

Ratchet spared a glance up as monitors beeped from the other berth with the yellow warrior, the mech shifting restlessly, his spark pulse suddenly becoming erratic. Pit. Slag. It. All. To. Pit. There was nothing he could do. Sideswipe was critical; he couldn’t leave for a nanoklik or he would deactivate. Ratchet frantically tried to stabilize his spark.

The yellow mech moaned feebly, then again, louder. The beeping intensified, then cut off abruptly. Ratchet looked up to find that the yellow mech had rolled off the berth and was now dragging himself across the floor.

“Sides…” it started as a hoarse moan, and then rose in volume, as the yellow mech continued to try to make his way across the floor to Sideswipe.

“Lie down, hold still,” Ratchet barked. The yellow mech didn’t have the energy reserves for that sort of thing. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate, unless he could get him calmed down. Primus, if he didn’t know better he’d say they were acting like a bonded pair. Or a fraggin’ gestalt. Or…Ratchet’s energon ran cold. Twins. Spark twins. The different frame-ages had thrown him off, but their baseline spark frequencies, now that he had a close look at Sideswipe’s, were nearly identical.

“Sideswipe!” The yellow mech was screaming now, over and over. Sideswipe’s spark faltered, faded for a moment, then came back unevenly. The other mech convulsed, briefly, with a cry of agony, confirming Ratchet’s suspicions. Spark twins. He’d only seen one case before in his entire medical career, the other twin dying within kliks of his brother even though he’d been completely uninjured. Sideswipe’s spark faltered yet again, and the other one cried out again, weaker this time. Soft but full of agony, and entirely too similar to the sound First Aid had made when....Not this, not this again, Ratchet’s thoughts ran through his processor in a jumble of horror. Please Primus I can’t watch this again, can’t watch him dying and not a thing I can do…

“No!” The cry was desperate, torn from a mech at the end of endurance. Ratchet glanced up again, fearing the worst, and froze in complete and utter shock. A familiar white-and-red form was pinning the yellow warrior to the floor, hands gripping either side of the helm by the wide flaring vents, their optics were locked.

“They said wait. Not yet.” First Aid spoke in a fierce commanding tone, in a voice almost unrecognizable, shredded raw by grief and pain. “Wait. Hold on. Hold still.” First Aid pressed his own foreplates against the yellow helm. “It will be ok, lie still.”

Ratchet, by pure reflex, continued his efforts to stabilize Sideswipe’s spark, his processor a whirl of shapeless thoughts. He found and cauterized a major internal leak in Sideswipe’s lower abdomen and suctioned accumulated fuel from his engine and suddenly his spark flared brightly and began pulsing in a near steady rhythm.

First Aid was still crouched over the yellow one, holding on to his helm and murmuring something into his audial sensors. The yellow warrior was lying calmly, still online as far as Ratchet could tell.

“Aid,” he said, not sure what to do or where to go from here. What was he supposed to do? First Aid didn’t respond. Ratchet continued his repairs of Sideswipe, looking up at one point to see First Aid, unbelievably, carefully levering the yellow mech back onto his berth. It was surreal. He finished the last welds on the red warrior, reassembling the damaged chestplates. At some point, he wasn’t sure when, the sounds against the rubble-filled doorway had stopped, the Decepticons leaving in search of easier prey.

He wiped his hands clean, and went over to where First Aid was sitting quietly, monitoring the yellow twin. He looked up at Ratchet, looking battered and weary, but undeniably alive.

“He’s stable,” First Aid said, his already soft voice no more than a whisper. “I gave him three units of sedative.” Ratchet nodded. He examined the yellow mech, checking First Aid’s work as he’d done thousands of times before, knowing there would rarely be anything missed, or needing more attention. He could see the tell-tale signs, now that he knew to look for, that they were twinned sparks, both sparks now pulsing in unison.

“Twins,” he said out loud, and First Aid nodded.

“Yes.” First Aid nodded.

Ratchet met his optics, glowing an exhausted, faded blue behind the visor, with an effort.  
“Aid…how…” he shook his head, still in shock, he supposed. “I’m so sorry…”

First Aid held up a hand, forestalling him. “Stop. Please, Ratch…I can’t…” His hand clenched suddenly, trembling, voice rasping into silence.

Ratchet nodded. “Ok. Ok, kiddo.” He kept his vocalizer steady, somehow. He wanted to hug his assistant, looking so...so…alone; he wanted to rock and scream all of the pain and anguish of the last cycle to the skies, but something told him that was not what Aid needed right now, and so he did not. He did, however, run some medical scans. His spark broke a little more at the results. First Aid’s spark was shivering in a strange irregular rhythm he’d never seen before, fast, with occasional deep flares that he knew had to be extremely painful, though Aid gave no sign, then stuttering into a steady beat for several kliks, a long pause, then flaring again. His engine was a wreck, his energon pressure low, oil pressure, non-existent, coolant levels low, fuel pump irregular as well, energy levels almost completely drained…Ratchet had no idea how Aid was even upright, let alone speaking to him coherently.

“Think you can take some energon?” he asked. First Aid looked at him a long while. Deciding, Ratchet thought. Deciding whether to live. First Aid shook his head.

“I don’t think I can swallow,” he whispered. Ratchet nodded, spark dropping.

“Transfusion?” he asked, trying not to sound too desperate, too hopeful.

First Aid watched him for awhile, then nodded faintly, and Ratchet hooked him up, trying to seem nonchalant about it. He was in such uncharted territory; he didn’t know what the right thing was to do. First Aid, alive, but…what at what price, what pain. He fought tears again thinking of the four lost ones (crying over the dead, he thought he’d given that up long ago) and now there was only First Aid, here, wavering on a thin knife edge between life and death, not the first time he’d been there, but always before there were his brothers, holding him firmly on the side of life and now they were on the wrong side…

He risked a quick brush of his hand over First Aid’s helm before quickly rising and leaving before his lost his composure, under the guise of going to check over Sideswipe again. There was a rumbling from the ruined entryway to the medbay. Ratchet turned to watch it, startled, but not moving from Sideswipe’s berth. There was no danger in the sound, somehow he knew. First Aid sat quietly, unalarmed as well, seeming to take it all in stride as the rubble moved away and Silverbolt and Slingshot pushed through, followed by Wheeljack.

“You look like slag,” Ratchet said, unthinking, and they did, all of them dented and grit-streaked. Slingshot had a big black-scorched area over half of his wing, and Silverbolt was limping badly. They looked…blank, soul-blasted by grief and sorrow. They stopped in shock at the sight that greeted them. First Aid made a small noise, seeing their injuries, but had no chance to rise from the edge of the berth. Wheeljack had stumbled across the distance and had him wrapped in a desperate embrace.

First Aid stroked his all-but-creator’s helm and back. “Shhh, Wheeljack,” he murmured into the audio. “Shhh, I’m here, it’s ok.” His optics met Silverbolt’s for a moment, optic ridges drawn together in pain or concern, before ducking his helm down over Wheeljack, still cradling the spark-broken engineer.

“Ratchet,” Silverbolt’s voice was broken, his face and that of his brother scarred by the tracks of optic fluid. “What…how…we were there Ratchet, we saw that ship explode. How…” His optics shone with a terrible hope, begging Ratchet to tell him it had all been a horrible mistake, that the Protectobots hadn’t been on the shuttle after all.

Ratchet shook his head quickly. “No, ‘Bolt, no…I can’t explain why Aid…he was dying, but he…somehow…” Ratchet shook his head again, unable to find words to explain. Silverbolt nodded, the optic fluid spilling over again, and Ratchet put his arm around the tall jet, pulling him close. Silverbolt fell into him with a broken sound of grief. Slingshot huddled against them both, ducking his head under Ratchet’s arm as he hadn’t done since he was a sparkling, silent and miserable.

They wept together for awhile, then finally calmed, all turning to watch Wheeljack and First Aid. Wheeljack was quiet now too, huddled in First Aid’s lap as if he were the sparkling. Silverbolt rose unsteadily and went over to them.

“Aid…” Silverbolt reached an unsteady hand out, but stopped short as if afraid to touch him. First Aid sighed and brushed his own hand briefly against Silverbolt’s.

“What did you do to your leg?” he asked.

“Aid…”

“Are the rest all right? How deep does that scorching go on Slingshot?”

“I’m fine, he’s fine. Skydive’s not, but he’s going to be…”

“Skydive?” First Aid’s gaze sharpened. “What happened to Skydive?”

“AID!” Silverbolt shouted, “STOP WORRYING ABOUT US, FOR PRIMUS’ SAKE!” His voice crackled with static. Wheeljack looked up at him in shock. First Aid bowed his head, and Sliverbolt dropped down to his knees, horrified at himself.

“Oh Primus, Aid, I’m so sorry I’m so sorry,” he babbled, weeping again. Slingshot was next to him, trembling with the force of both their emotions. “Just tell me what to do, what I should say, I just don’t know…I don’t know anything anymore…”

Aid was by his side, comforting him, him, murmuring soothing nonsense, somehow wrapping arms around all three while they wept. It was all backwards.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to do anything.” First Aid pressed his helm to Silverbolt’s for a moment (the gesture that Silverbolt had seen him do a hundred times, First Aid pressing his helm close to Hot Spot’s, and Silverbolt was wrenched with another deep sob at the thought), and then pulled gently away. Without a word he began tending the scorched area on Slingshot, carefully wiping off the blackened soot with a cleansing cloth he pulled from somewhere, and then coating the most damaged areas with circuit gel.

“Not deep, I don’t think it reached most of the circuitry,” First Aid said softly. He then started on Silverbolt’s leg, Ratchet silently handing him supplies, while they all just sat there, watching him in an exhausted daze, emotions run to the ground for the moment.

“Skydive?” First Aid asked hesitantly, while he worked, with a quick glance at Silverbolt’s face. He ducked his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. I really want to know.”

Silverbolt sighed, resting a hand on First Aid’s helm for a moment. “No, I’m sorry. It’s ok. Skydive…”

“He tried to fly past his altitude specifications and overheated badly, but he’ll be all right.” Wheeljack answered for him, more familiar with the medical details, his voice hoarse but steady as he filled First Aid in on Skydive’s condition. First Aid nodded, continuing his repairs on Silverbolt’s leg.

“I’m so sorry, we failed-” Silverbolt started, voice cracking again, but First Aid interrupted, placing a hand on Silverbolt’s chestplates.

“No. Don’t you apologize. Not for nearly dying trying to save us. Don’t you dare.” He stared seriously into Silverbolt’s optics until the jet nodded faintly. “Good,” he said, removing his hand, sounding satisfied, and so much like himself, stubborn and caring and giving orders like he sometimes did, taking over without so much as a by-your-leave when he knew what was best, that Silverbolt almost smiled.

Ratchet cleared his vocalizer. “Aid, what…just tell us what you need. Is there anything we can do?”

First Aid was silent for awhile, staring at his hands. “I don’t know myself,” he murmured sadly, at last. “I just know, somehow, I’m not supposed to go. Not yet. They said to wait.”

Slingshot and Silverbolt exchanged glances at that one.

“I don’t know how…I don’t know if I can...” First Aid continued. He twined his fingers together. They were trembling just perceptibly, and First Aid clasped his hands tightly to still it, tight enough that Ratchet knew from experience it was probably shooting bolts of pain up his arms. No, calm as he seemed, First Aid was not ok. “I think I just need to be…alone…for awhile.”

Alone. The word hung heavily in the air. First Aid had never been alone before, not really. Alone to deactivate? It would be like him, to hide away somewhere, spare them what grief he could.

“Aid…” Ratchet said slowly. 

First Aid looked up at him, meeting his optics with that steady, weary gaze. “You still need me here?” 

“Yes.” Ratchet somehow kept himself from breaking as he said it. “Primus, Aid, yes, I need you. We need you here, if there’s a way, if you can bear it, yes.”

Silverbolt and Slingshot looked hesitant, less certain, knowing better than anyone the cost, the choice they would have made, but they nodded. //That’s what they asked, if he really heard them, what _they_ wanted// was their shared thought.

“Stay,” Slingshot said hoarsely, the first time he had spoken, “if you can.” Wheeljack gave a wordless sob and pressed his helm against Aid’s shoulder. First Aid leaned back a little, nudging Wheeljack comfortingly as was his way.

“Well then.” First Aid drew a deep cycle of air through his intakes, a controlled sigh, his hands still gripping themselves as if holding on to life itself. He nodded once, slowly, determined. “I’ll see what I can do.” His visor tilted towards Silverbolt. “Silverbolt, may I ask a favor? Will you take me to a high place, please?” he asked.

Wheeljack and Ratchet looked puzzled, concerned, but Silverbolt nodded. “I know a place. It should be safe enough, even now. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, always and forever, Aid, no questions asked.”

First Aid’s visor flickered a few times at that. He looked up at Ratchet’s worried frown. “Don’t worry,” he said, and Ratchet could feel his spark pulse painfully at the smile that flickered across First Aid’s face. Faint, weary, more a slight crinkling of the plating around his optics than a lifting of the mouth, but a smile nonetheless it was. “I’m not planning to jump.”

First Aid brushed his cheek against Wheeljack’s helm, then stood, moving slowly as if he had weights attached to every limb, or deep shock, Ratchet thought grimly to himself. First Aid checked the monitors on the yellow warrior one last time, standing and looking at the peaceful, glorious face. Just before Ratchet decided First Aid was going to drop over or recharge there standing on his feet, he turned and made his way to Silverbolt (not steady on his feet, and it was all Ratchet could do to keep from grabbing him and sedating him on a berth for the next vorn) and held up his arms. Silverbolt hoisted First Aid up to his chest, cradling him close, and, with Slingshot close on his heels in the way that only gestalts could manage, carried him from the medbay.

They were gone a long time. Wheeljack helped Ratchet clean up the mess he’d made of the medbay entrance, and treat the trickle of minor injuries that came in from Jazz’s team, while Ratchet updated Jazz. Ratchet and Wheeljack ended up sitting on the floor together, leaning on one another in exhaustion.

“Rest,” Ratchet said, hearing the hum and stutter of Wheeljack’s systems.

“No,” Wheeljack answered. “Not until….” he trailed off. “You rest, Ratchet. I’ll keep watch.”

“No.”

“Okay then.” They left it there, both unable to summon the strength to argue.

They stayed that way, too tired to think anymore, too tired to either hope or fear or even grieve for their lost ones, until Silverbolt’s comm that they were on their way back (the Aerialbots, their other creations, Ratchet thought, vowing to hug them all fiercely as soon as he got the chance and to Pit with whatever it did to his reputation) returning roused them from their stupor. The approaching sound was of a single large engine rather than five jets. They exchanged glances, and then, bracing one another, managed to stagger up and out the medbay entrance to meet Superion, cradling the limp form of First Aid close. The combiner separated into his components, Fireflight and Air Raid supporting Skydive, Slingshot close behind Silverbolt, who was still holding First Aid. His face was set and grim, ravaged by grief, but it changed at Ratchet’s expression of dread, Wheeljack’s low moan of despair.

“No, no, it’s ok,” Silverbolt said quickly. “He’s only recharging.”

Silverbolt gently laid his burden on one of the empty berths, his brothers close behind him. Ratchet checked his systems with all of them, including Wheeljack, hovering near. First Aid was indeed recharging, so deeply he was only a few steps away from complete stasis. His systems were…stable, for the most part. Strained to the breaking point, all of them, and his spark still kept that painful, erratic rhythm, but it beat strong in its unsteady tempo, and that gave Ratchet hope.

Everyone was watching Ratchet’s face anxiously, though Skydive looked so exhausted he had to be online by sheer force of will.

“He’s holding his own,” he told them, and everyone relaxed a little. “You,” he added, pointing at Skydive. “Berth, now. Actually, that goes for all of you. You too, Wheeljack.” No one argued, for once. Ratchet reconfigured several berths together and everyone gestalt-piled in, including Wheeljack, and, after some consideration, Ratchet added First Aid to the weary tangle of wings and limbs, where he was completely engulfed. He’d be harder to monitor, but Ratchet couldn’t bear to see him alone on that berth any longer. 

Ratchet stayed near until he was sure everyone was in recharge, and then made his rounds, running on whatever fumes had sustained him thus far. The twin warriors were both doing better, the readings slightly stronger than the last time he checked. Ratchet had moved them close to one another, and it was undeniably clear, the way their sparks pulsed together. He wondered now how he had missed the signs, despite the frame-age disparity, but he’d been perhaps not at his best. Another time and he would have been fascinated, now he only felt a sort of dim regret, that he lacked the motivation or energy to study them more, while they were there and offline. He had a feeling, by the scars and signs of less-than-optimal medical care on both their frames, that they would be unlikely to volunteer as research subjects.

“Ratchet.” Someone was speaking to him, touching his elbow. Ratchet came to himself with a start, realizing he had nearly fallen into recharge on his feet. He turned to see Optimus Prime’s concerned face.

“When did you get here?” he asked. It felt like a heroic effort to get the words out, in order. The right order, making sense.

“As soon as I could. You’re the last ones left, but none of you are in any sort of condition to go anywhere. Lie down.” Optimus guided him to a berth, Ratchet unresisting, though he craned his head a little at the Aerialbot pile, wanting to check, just one more time…Optimus’s face was sad, he must have heard then….

He was lying down. When did that happen? He focused on Prime with an effort, and frowned at the dimness of his optics, the faint ragged edge of his systems, all-too-familiar symptoms.

“Prime, you were sick, too?” Ratchet tried to sit up, but Optimus prevented him easily with a hand to his chestplates. 

“I’m better now. I’ll watch over them. Perceptor has the medbay, Ironhide’s standing guard. Rest, Ratchet.”

Recharge swallowed him whole.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case of excessive feels, plz read the following:  
> [Reunion Part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1158364/chapters/6756110)  
> [Reunion Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1158364/chapters/6773150)  
> [Reunion Part 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1158364/chapters/7822436)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some twin-on-twin violence in this chapter, in what amounts to a type of self harm.

Ratchet was at his desk, staring at an unactivated datapad and lost in memories, when Sideswipe came barreling into the medbay. The temporary visor hid his optics, but his frantic expression was still clear enough to read. It transformed to relief when he saw First Aid recharging on the berth.

“Whew. I thought we’d lost him!” Sideswipe sighed, as he slumped against one of the berths.

Ratchet frowned at Sideswipe’s dramatic entry and tapped a finger digit against his mouthplates and pointed at First Aid with the other hand in stern signal to keep it down. First Aid stirred a little, but did not, by some miracle, awake from recharge. Sideswipe winced apologetically and started to leave, but Ratchet stood and waved him over to the far side of the medbay. 

“Since you’re here, let me take a look at those optics,” he said, keeping his voice low and motioning Sideswipe to sit up on the berth. He still felt a little guilty about not catching the damage sooner, although photon damage was notoriously tricky to diagnose early on. Sideswipe sat with exaggerated silence, his lip components pressed firmly together, and Ratchet had to suppress a chuckle. Even when the red frontliner was shorting out his last patience circuit, he somehow couldn’t maintain his annoyance for long. Not that he planned on letting Sideswipe catch onto that little fact; the red menace did _not_ need any encouragement.

“The damage is pretty significant, and I definitely want to get mag-wave treatment started now, but looks like we caught it in time. Should have known better than to doubt Aid’s medic instincts, even if he was delirious.”

“He doing ok?” Sideswipe finally dared to speak, keeping his voice very quiet and tilting his helm to indicate First Aid’s berth on the far side of the medbay.

Ratchet nodded as he angled the overhead mag-wave generator towards Sideswipe’s helm. “Better. You and Sunstreaker helped, immensely. So thank you.”

Sideswipe straightened on the berth. “Well,” he said, in a tone of mock-modesty, “we can’t help it, our vibes are just that awesome.” 

Ratchet snorted and put a restraining hand on Sideswipe’s shoulder, holding him still as he activated the mag-wave. He’d set it for the five breem cycle, although he had his doubts that Sideswipe would manage to sit still for that long. “Don’t move until the unit finishes the cycle,” he cautioned, and turned to go back to his desk and start working on the next round of scheduling for routine maintenance check ups.

“He’s really only what, like, nine vorns old?” The mag-wave unit bleeped an error message as Sideswipe leaned forward on the berth, and Ratchet turned back with an exasperated sigh.

“Hold still means _hold still_ , Sideswipe.” Ratchet crossed his arms until Sideswipe straightened back up and the mag-wave beeped and reactivated the treatment cycle. “And Aid’s ten vorns. It’s only about a quarter vorn until his sparkday, actually.” Eleven vorns, when First Aid would officially no longer be a sparkling. They hadn’t celebrated any of First Aid’s sparkdays since his brothers had been lost, at least not officially. Too many memories, and Aid had so clearly preferred to avoid any sort of fuss, although they all managed to sneak in a few presents and small kindnesses for “no particular reason” around the relevant dates. They really should do something for this one, though, Ratchet had been thinking. The eleventh sparkday was special. 

“It’s hard to believe he’s still a sparkling. Are you going to have a party?” Sideswipe asked, apparently thinking along the same lines. “We should do something.”

“We should, should we.” Ratchet eyed Sideswipe in amusement.

Sideswipe gave a small, slightly embarrassed shrug, careful this time not to move out of range of the mag-wave generator. “The guy saved my life. And Sunny’s. A couple of times apparently. And I almost deactivated him, even if it was an accident. I want to do something, y’know. Nice.”

Ratchet didn’t think his expression had changed, but Sideswipe still added somewhat defensively, “What? I can be nice.” 

“Yes, you certainly can. You’ve proven that already.” Although Ratchet had to admit to a certain trepidation as to what Sideswipe’s idea of a good party might entail, he found he had no doubts of Sideswipe’s sincerity in this. 

In his own way, Sideswipe’s continued sanity, despite his quirks, was as much a miracle as First Aid’s. Sideswipe’s processor showed undeniable signs of traumatic spark integration, which almost invariably resulted in severe and permanent psychosis. Sparks and processors could be transferred into new frames, but it had to be done carefully, and in sync. Whoever had frame-transferred Sideswipe had not bothered to transfer Sideswipe’s original processor, but instead had memory wiped the original and merely transferred Sideswipe’s spark. If Sideswipe was aware of what had happened to him, and what this had done to Sunstreaker, connected by their bond, was anyone’s guess. Sunstreaker’s emotional programming was so scrambled the psychological function analyzer back on Cybertron gave up and labeled him “unknown profile, manage with extreme caution.” It had been a risk, accepting them into the Autobot ranks, but Optimus had given them that chance. Ratchet had had some doubts at the time, though he had spoken in their favor. He found he was glad, looking at Sideswipe’s sheepishly pleased expression, remembering First Aid tucked between the red frontliner and the yellow. Very glad. 

“If you could...spend time with him, get him out of this medbay now and then, I’d count it a great favor.”

Sideswipe nodded his helm, causing the mag-wave scanner to beep and reset again, but Ratchet couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed in the face of Sideswipe’s grin. 

“You got it, Ratchet! Niceness for First Aid, it’s a done deal.”

~~~~~~~~~~

‘Doing something nice’ for First Aid turned out to be much more difficult than Sideswipe initially expected. Ratchet seemed to think that merely hanging out with Aid a little was more than enough to ask, but Sideswipe had something more substantial in mind. He was still mulling over the idea of an eleventh sparkday celebration, but that was still a long way out. Problem was the peaceful little medbot didn’t seem to WANT anything. How was he supposed to work with that? He tried offering to help out in the medbay, but Ratchet’s alarmed expression put an end to that. Sunstreaker offered some of his favorite polish, and First Aid accepted politely, but it was clear that First Aid, although keeping his armor adequately clean, did not particularly care if it was extra shiny. He wasn’t interested in games, or holo vids. He already had every medical device known to Cybertron, and several that weren’t, most of them built right in.

“I liked it that one time, when you put me up on the wall,” First Aid said a little wistfully, when Sideswipe finally asked, in exasperation, what on all of Cybertron he could do that Aid would appreciate. Sideswipe looked at him in astonishment. First of all because he’d almost entirely forgotten the incident (he remembered Ratchet’s reaction more clearly. He had been…displeased, to say the least, to find his assistant stuck with adhesive to the medbay walls. That had been during the first long jump between planets, and Ironhide had been vigilant about keeping them far too busy with training to get bored during interplanetary jumps since then.)

“You…liked that?” Hopeless, that’s what First Aid was. What good was pranking someone if the prankee actually enjoyed it?

“It was fun.” First Aid shrugged a little. “And I could have gotten down if there was an emergency. I carry solvent you know.”

Sideswipe shook his head. He had barely noticed First Aid as an actual person at the time. He might have felt badly about the incident now, except that First Aid had so clearly enjoyed it. Who knew there was so much going on underneath the quiet medical assistant’s nondescript exterior. He was certainly a funny little bot, he thought, not for the first time. Why did this have to be so hard? 

“Make something,” Sunstreaker suggested. “That’s the best present; something you make yourself.”

Sideswipe stared at his brother as if he had grown an extra head. “What. The. Slag.”

Sunstreaker shrugged, unoffended. “What? You didn’t know I was an expert on methods of being nice? Fine, ignore my expertise.”

Make something. Sideswipe pondered that. Not a half bad idea, honestly, though Sunstreaker coming up with it was like Ultra Magnus suddenly deciding the Ark needed redecorating and hanging up little sparkly crystal decorations in his office.

Today’s project was to get First Aid out of the medbay to get some energon in the rec room, rather than gulping it down in the medbay like he usually did. First Aid came willingly enough. Sideswipe was pleased to see he was steadier on his pedes. They were walking at an almost normal pace through the hallways, Sunstreaker trailing a little behind them both, glowering as he usually was in public. When they got there, Sideswipe went to get the cubes and all three sat at one of the corner tables, Sunstreaker with his back to the wall, where he could watch, a place for Sideswipe at the other wall, First Aid trustingly with his back to the room, apparently unworried about the possibility of being jumped from behind. Unlikely the Ark, of course, but Sideswipe had a feeling he’d be the same in the middle of a seedy spaceport.

One of the energon dispensers was acting up. Sideswipe cursed and kicked it a few times, until it sputtered and dispensed the final cube. First Aid turned from their table and looked over in concern.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, as Sideswipe arrived at the table with their cubes. Sideswipe sat down by Sunstreaker as First Aid got up and went over to the dispenser, opening up a panel on one side. At first Sunstreaker and Sideswipe politely waited to drink their energon (Guzzling the energon as if you were starving got funny looks, that was one thing they’d had to learn. It was ok to wait a little, enjoy it slowly. Autobots did not gang up on one another and steal energon. Sideswipe had been on both ends of that one.) When First Aid kept puttering away at the dispenser, however, Sideswipe gave up and went over to see what on Cybertron was taking so long.

“There you go,” he heard First Aid murmur as he came up behind him. First Aid twiddled something inside the dispenser one more time, and the dispenser sputtered, splattered, and then let out a steady stream of energon. “That should feel much better now,” First Aid said in satisfaction, closing up the panel and giving the dispenser a pat. He turned and gave a little start as he found Sideswipe standing next to him.

“Oh! Hi, Sideswipe.”

“Aid…that’s an energon dispenser.”

First Aid’s optics blinked at Sideswipe a few times, behind his visor. “Yes? It’s working better now, if you want another cube.”

Sideswipe shook his head and gave up. “We still haven’t started our first; we were waiting for you.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” First Aid scolded gently as he followed Sideswipe back to the table. Sunstreaker looked up from finishing off the last cube as they got there.

“Sunny!” Sideswipe exclaimed, snatching the almost empty cube out of his brother’s grasp and inspecting it in disgust. “All three? What the frag, you have any self control at all?”

“I thought you were bringing back more! Don’t have a Cybercow, slagger.” Sunstreaker made a grab for the cube, missed, and settled for grabbing his brother’s arm instead and yanking Sideswipe down. Sideswipe dropped the cube and twisted around until he could throw a leg over Sunstreaker, knocking him to the ground. They wrestled until they knocked hard against the chair First Aid was standing beside. First Aid tried to jump out of the way, but lost his balance and started to fall. Sideswipe felt a strange sort of wrenching through the bond with his brother, and suddenly Sunstreaker was gone, a streak of yellow as he snatched First Aid mid-fall, rolling so that First Aid landed safely on top of his chassis. First Aid laughed as they flew through the air, plonking his helm on Sunstreaker’s chassis as they landed and then lifting it, still laughing softly, palms outspread on Sunstreaker’s chest, visor flashing bright.

Sunstreaker rolled again, pulling First Aid up with him, hooking the chair upright with his foot and setting First Aid into it.

“I’ll get more energon,” Sunstreaker said, turning and striding to the dispenser.

Sideswipe blinked, not really sure yet what had just happened. A few of the other mechs had risen in alarm at the scuffling match, though they knew better than to interfere with the twins, but maybe one or two of them had been thinking to snatch First Aid out of danger. They sat back down, some with raised optic ridges, but conversation resumed. Until Sunstreaker had gone all…whatever he had gone. Sideswipe was still puzzling over the strange mix of emotions that had come from his twin, but whatever it was Sunstreaker had it all tucked away now.

“Uh,” Sideswipe said, sitting down slowly across from First Aid. 

“Hmm?” First Aid asked, tilting his helm at him. His face mask was up again, but Sideswipe got the impression he was smiling.

“You ok? You didn’t get…jostled, or anything, did you?”

“Nope.” First Aid laughed again, a little. “You two are so funny, sometimes.”

“ _We’re_ funny,” Sideswipe snorted, smiling despite himself. His processor had caught up with events and was just now imagining Ratchet’s reaction to the news that they’d damaged First Aid while wrestling around.

Sunstreaker returned with four more cubes, plopping them down on the table and then returning to his previous position and attitude of silently brooding, gaze surveying the rec room watchfully. Sideswipe sipped his cube, trying to think of something to talk about, although First Aid seemed content with the silence, tucking both of his feet up on the chair (the chairs could be reconfigured, but most of the time no one bothered and kept them at standard mid-size: perfect for the twins, a bit large for Aid, small for bots like Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus. Minibots would look ridiculous on them, but they generally opted to sit on the tables instead.) 

Jazz came over after a moment and pulled up a chair, needing no invitation, but somehow so disarming and friendly that it never occurred to anyone to be resentful, not even Sunstreaker, though Sideswipe could feel his almost reflexive wariness. Just a quick run through of the best ways to deactivate Jazz, if it became necessary. Jazz would be a tricky one. He was small, smaller that First Aid even (though he sat in the slightly-too-big-for-him chair as if it had been specially designed, just for him, leaning it on one or two legs every now and then), but he was also very quick, and devious, and despite his casual and honest friendliness there was a certain…ruthlessness about him. Sideswipe was glad they were friends, and he had a feeling Jazz’s hanging out with them was going a long way towards reassuring anyone alarmed by their impromptu scuffling match.

Jazz kept up a steady stream of conversation, teasing Sideswipe about his less than stylish taste in visors (but in such a way that even Sunstreaker recognized it as all in good fun, and did not take offense, and that was also part of Jazz’s Jazzness) asking First Aid about his recovery and a few detailed questions about his research on organics, which, much to Sideswipe’s surprise was actually more interesting than he’d ever suspected, especially when getting into some of First Aid’s observations of mech-shaped organics and their similarities to the quintessential Cybertronian form, with paired sets of optics and four limbs, nasal crests and mouthparts all bearing a remarkable similarity of form. Jazz claimed it made perfect sense, as Primus had created the ideal design it was not so surprising to find it copied in other lifeforms, while First Aid was doubtful.

Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s interest as he listened, though his expression gave nothing away.

//You gettin’ all of this, bro?// he sent.

//Mostly. Aid does have a point - there are some strange anomalies in our design. I’ll explain it to you later, in smaller words// Sunstreaker sent an impression of a smirk.

Sideswipe responded with a growl, causing Jazz and First Aid to eye him curiously.

//Behave// Sunstreaker said. //No wrestling around breakable medics//

Sideswipe gave a mental (this time) snort. //I’m beginning to think that guy’s about the least breakable of all of us// He added, after a calculated pause //Anyway, _First Aid_ seemed to enjoy the wrestling, especially the part where you _snatched him out of the air_ //

Sunstreaker determinedly ignored him. Sideswipe grinned to himself, and turned his attention back to First Aid and Jazz. //Is it just me, or is he not looking so hot?// he asked.

Sunstreaker blinked and looked at the medic more closely. Jazz’s attention had been diverted to Trailbreaker, who had come over with a question about his duty shift, and First Aid was listening politely but somehow Sideswipe got the impression that what he really wanted to do was put his head down on the table. He was listing a little to the side, and his optics seemed less bright behind the visor. He’d finished less than a quarter of his energon cube as well.

//Back to Ratchet// was Sunstreaker’s verdict. Without further ado he stood and scooped First Aid up and onto his shoulder, and headed out the door.

“First Aid was looking tired,” Sideswipe gave a hasty explanation, Trailbreaker looking bemused and Jazz with the beginnings of a wry smile, after a quick glance at First Aid determined that the medic seemed to be perfectly fine with being suddenly carted off.

Sideswipe hastily double stepped out of the rec room, catching up to his brother and his red-and-white passenger.

“It might be a good idea to, oh I don’t know, ASK, before you suddenly throw someone over your shoulder,” he said sarcastically. Really, no wonder everyone on the Ark looked at them like they were from another planet. First Aid blinked at him from over Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

“You doin’ ok there, Aid?”

First Aid bobbed his head a few times, though that might have been just from the motion of Sunstreaker walking. Sunstreaker barely waited for the doors to the medbay to open before striding through, to deposit First Aid on the closest berth. He spun around and exited the medbay just as quickly. Ratchet looked back and forth from First Aid to Sideswipe, puzzled. Sideswipe shrugged.

“Sunstreaker decided it was time for me to come back,” First Aid explained.

“He did?” Ratchet raised an optic ridge and come over. “Any particular reason?”

“He was looking kind of tired. And he barely refueled at all,” Sideswipe tattled, leaving out the part where they almost knocked him down.

“Not refueling?” First Aid sank a little under Ratchet’s worried glare. Ratchet came over and began hooking up First Aid to several sensors, pursing his lips as he looked at the readouts.

“I was just talking to Jazz, I was going to refuel,” First Aid protested, swinging his legs a little. “I’m fine, Ratchet.”

Ratchet turned the readout so First Aid could see it.

“Oh,” First Aid said. He sighed and held out an arm so Ratchet could hook up an energon transfusion line.

“He gonna be ok, Ratchet?” Sideswipe asked, shifting uneasily. Slag, maybe they _had_ damaged him, somehow. Again.

Ratchet glanced at First Aid, not sure how much information the junior medic wanted to share with the red warrior.

“I’ll be fine Sideswipe,” First Aid said, flashing his visor at him reassuringly. “My energon processing system is just having a little trouble getting back in gear. It’ll just take some time is all.”

Sideswipe looked at Ratchet, who was frowning at First Aid’s readouts. Ratchet met Sideswipe’s gaze and something in it made him quirk a smile suddenly.

“Don’t look so worried, Sideswipe. It’ll take more than being impaled through the spark to keep First Aid down.” He reached over and rubbed First Aid fondly on the helm a few times. “Now, since you’re here, let me check those optics again before your duty shift,” he said briskly, motioning Sideswipe to sit on the neighboring berth.

“Not another mag-wave treatment,” Sideswipe groaned.

“Mmm, well, that’s what I’m going to find out. If we’re lucky, maybe you won’t need any more.”

“I could work on scheduling everyone for their full system scans while you do that,” First Aid suggested, looking at Ratchet hopefully. Sideswipe gave another groan. Full system scans were a pain, and took fragging _forever._

Ratchet gave First Aid a considering look, but aside from being low on energy didn’t seem to be able to find too much amiss. “Good idea,” he said, finally, handing First Aid a datapad. First Aid wiggled happily, settling his back against the berth as he got started.

Ratchet turned back to Sideswipe to finish checking his optics, and First Aid looked up when Ratchet was done to hear the verdict. 

“Everything looks good,” Ratchet said, motioning to Sideswipe that he could leave. “No more mag-wave treatments, but you’ll need to keep the visor for a few more orns.

“Thanks, Ratch,” Sideswipe said. “Bye, Aid.”

“Be well, Sideswipe,” First Aid told him. His face mask was retracted, and that little smile Sideswipe remembered from before quirked his lips before he returned to his datapad. Sideswipe’s intakes caught for a moment as he remembered, like a brief spark ember flare from the tangled darkness that was their past, Sunstreaker, running up to hug him. “Sideswipe, come and see,” he had been saying, laughing sweet and free as a seeker in flight. “Come and see what I made!”

He was still standing by the berth, Sideswipe realized after a moment, stunned by memory and by First Aid’s smile which for some mysterious reason felt like it had speared him right through the spark. Fair trade, perhaps, for the spearing he’d inadvertently done to First Aid’s own spark. Ratchet was starting to look concerned. He wheeled around and left before Ratchet could ask him any questions that he had no answers to.

He sought out his brother, following the trace of Sunstreaker’s soul like a heat-seeking missile. His own spark was beating hard. Frightened. By that one memory, Sunstreaker laughing. Sunstreaker rarely smiled, and never laughed. Sideswipe would have sworn it. Sunstreaker had never run into his arms like that, but Sideswipe could feel his arms and chest warm and aching with the memory of it, and he gripped his arms tightly around himself as he walked. What else had been lost? Himself, his brother. Sideswipe was usually content to let the dark places lie, undisturbed. He was afraid to probe them too deeply, stir up monsters, especially when the monsters might wear his own face. What else had been lost? Sideswipe wanted to cry, wanted to scream, maybe tear a few things apart, but instead he just walked faster, towards his other star.

Sunstreaker had had some forewarning of Sideswipe’s state of mind, through the bond, but even so he looked a little startled when Sideswipe strode through the entry of the training arena and tackled him, air wrenching harshly through his intakes.

“Sideswipe-,“ he began, but all speech was forgotten as Sideswipe proceeded to attempt to pummel his brother to scrap. Sunstreaker’s confusion and simmering rage flared and rose in a wave to match his own overwhelming torrent of emotion, and they wrestled and flung one another around on the arena floor as if they were the bitterest of enemies, faces twisted in rage or pain. It ended, finally, when Sunstreaker slammed Sideswipe hard enough into the wall to blank out his processor for several kliks. He slumped to the floor, dazed, with Sunstreaker panting beside him. Both of them were leaking energon from several dents and tears, where they’d gouged at one another with their bare hands.

“What the frag…was that all about,” Sunstreaker gasped out finally, when he’d gotten his intakes somewhat under control. Sideswipe couldn’t answer just yet. He considered briefly smacking Sunstreaker one more time across the helm, but a sharp twinge in his shoulder when he tried to move it convinced him otherwise. There was something wet trickling down his face. It tickled, annoying amongst all the other sharper pains, and he managed to move his other arm to swipe at it weakly. He expected energon, but it was clear, not pink. Optic fluid. Primus, he was crying like a sparkling. When had he started doing that?

//Sides?// Sunstreaker’s mental query was…tentative. Worried, under the layers of anger and battle-rage. It held a little of the flavor of that other Sunstreaker, the one Sideswipe had seen in his memory. Sideswipe showed it to him, that bright, happy Sunstreaker, laughing.

//Laughing// Sideswipe found another reserve of strength, turning to topple and pin his unresisting brother to the ground, and growling in his audio.

“Laughing.” He was still crying, his vents trying to catch with sobs but he wouldn’t let them, but he could not stop the fluid leaking from his optics. “That was you. Where did that Sunstreaker go? What happened to us? What else are you keeping from me,” he gritted out. Sunstreaker remembered more than he did. Sideswipe had always suspected it, and now he was certain, feeling Sunstreaker’s sudden mental withdrawal.

Sideswipe closed his hands around Sunstreaker’s throat, digging his fingers, sharpened at the ends. “Tell me,” he snarled. Who was he? This person called Sideswipe. There were parts of him missing, great chunks of life, both of them, and he knew it now and he wanted them back.

Sunstreaker was unresisting, though energon was starting to leak from his neck, around the dents where his neck was buckling under Sideswipe’s fingers. He tried to speak, but his vocalizer only gave a harsh crackle of static.

//No// Sunny sent through the bond instead. // _You_ can still laugh. I won’t take that from you//

Sideswipe dug his fingers in harder. Sunstreaker kicked him, suddenly, in the crotchplates, and Sideswipe’s optics flew open in shock.

//And stop that// Sunstreaker sent, with a strong feeling of annoyance. //You’re ruining my finish//

That was the understatement of the vorn. Sunstreaker hissed a little in pain as Sideswipe carefully extracted his fingers from his brother’s neck. He’d missed the vital energon lines by mere nanospans. He rubbed one hand, still wet with his brother’s energon, across his forehead and sank back on his heels, feeling a dull sort of pre-horror creep over him. An echo of another memory, when Sunstreaker’s hands had been around his throat and he was ready to die or live, as Sunstreaker willed it. He would be horrified in a moment, but now he giggled weakly at Sunstreaker’s baleful gaze.

//That’s not the kind of laughing I meant// Sunstreaker sent, rolling himself upright with an effort and at that Sideswipe was laughing helplessly, until it turned, between one intake and the next into a cry of agonized sorrow, for everything, everything in those dark spaces and the laughing Sunstreaker that was no more. He rested his helm on Sunstreaker’s knee and wept like a lost sparkling.

//You can still cry, too// Sunstreaker’s mind voice sounded wistful. Sideswipe had no memory of Sunstreaker weeping, but he supposed that he must have done that too, once. //That’s a good thing, Sides. That’s a good thing// Sunstreaker did not hug him, that was not part of his programming, not anymore, but he could feel their helms touching, where Sunstreaker had leaned over to reach him, the hot gusting of his vents against his neckplates. Sideswipe stopped crying at last, out of exhaustion mainly. 

//What was it you made?// Sideswipe asked through the bond after awhile, too tired to speak aloud. //Back then, do you remember?// He felt Sunstreaker shake his head against the back of his helm.

“No,” Sunstreaker whispered. “I’m afraid to remember.” //It’s gone and I’m afraid, Sides, I’m sorry// Sunstreaker’s thoughts and speech overlapped one another. Sideswipe pressed his helm against Sunstreaker’s knee a bit harder – it hurt, Sunstreaker’s knee was not the most comfortable headrest - before lifting his head, Sunstreaker sitting back up with him.

“You lost your visor thing,” Sunstreaker observed. He looked like slag, energon drying from where it had leaked on his face and neck. He probably didn’t look much better. Sideswipe felt at his face and helm, in the irrational hope that the visor was stuck there somewhere.

“Slag.” Sideswipe looked around. Ratchet was going to deactivate him. He didn’t see anything resembling a visor though. Maybe they’d kicked it underneath something? Sideswipe rolled to his knees to go look, and something crunched as he did so. He lifted his knee to find a pile of glittery dust. There were several other small shards and fragments scattered about.

“Pit, Sunny, we pulverized it.” He met his brother’s optics with a horror almost on par with what he’d felt when realizing he had nearly strangled his own brother. Ratchet was going to weld him to a berth and glare at him until he broke into a gibbering mess, Sideswipe was sure of it.

“Not my fault, bro.” Sunstreaker raised his hands, disclaiming any responsibility, then frowned as he noticed the scratches all over his hands. “You started it,” he said, rubbing at a place where gray plating showed on his knuckles.

They both had duty in half a cycle. Sideswipe wanted nothing more than to find his berth and recharge for a vorn. Everything hurt, inside and out. He briefly considered hiding from Ratchet for the rest of his existence, but that really wasn’t an option in outer space. Maybe once they got back to Cybertron though? Maybe he could hide on the Ark until then? Or maybe…

He opened a comlink. _Aid? Hey, Aid, you got a klik?_

There was a slight pause, and then Aid responded, _Sideswipe?_ his transmission somewhat fuzzy. Sideswipe gave himself a mental kick. Slag, First Aid had probably been recharging and he’d woken him up. More fodder for the Wrath of Ratchet. He was so deactivated.

 _Um, nevermind,_ he sent hastily. _Go back to recharge._

 _Sideswipe, what is it?_ First Aid sounded almost…stern. It made Sideswipe smile.

_I…uh…I might have broken my visor?_

_Ah, I see._ First Aid took the information in stride. _And you’d prefer Ratchet not find out?_

 _Oh Primus please yes,_ Sideswipe babbled. First Aid gave a little chuckle.

_Don’t worry, Sideswipe, I can fix it easily enough. Tell me where you are and I’ll be there in a few breems._

_In the training arena,_ Sideswipe sent thankfully. _And…um, I don’t know if it’s exactly…fixable. Can you bring a new one?_

 _Sure, Sideswipe, that’s no problem,_ First Aid replied, Primus bless his tolerant little spark. _Better give me another breem though, is that ok?_

 _That’s great, Aid, thank you so much. Uh…you’re not going to get in trouble with Ratchet over this, are you?_ he added belatedly.

_Mmm. Well, possibly, if he finds out. Don’t worry about it though; Ratchet’s in a meeting so we should be safe enough. He only yells when he cares an awful lot. Just sit tight, and I’ll be there soon._

Sunstreaker was eyeing him.

“First Aid,” Sideswipe explained, pointing to his visorless optics.

“He’s coming all the way here?” Sunstreaker asked, looking worried. Sideswipe nodded, feeling doubly guilty now. Not only was First Aid risking Ratchet’s displeasure, he was also still recovering and Sideswipe was making him walk to the other side of the ship.

“I don’t know about this, Sideswipe.” Sunstreaker inspected another dent on his leg, wiping futilely at the energon that had leaked from it and then looked up at his brother unhappily. “Hanging around with us doesn’t seem to be good for his health.”

“You’re awfully protective of him,” Sideswipe said curiously, remembering the earlier snatch from harm’s way in the rec room. “What’s up with that, bro?” Sunstreaker snorted and didn’t answer, but somehow managed to strongly imply that Sideswipe was hardly one to talk. He pulled out a polishing cloth from one of his storage panels and returned to fussing over his badly marred finish.

“Here, let me do that,” Sideswipe said in mingled irritation and guilt, snatching the cloth out of Sunstreaker’s hand. “You’re only making it worse.”

“What we really need is a trip to the washracks,” Sunstreaker muttered, but he did not resist as Sideswipe began cleaning up the worst of the dents and scrapes.

There was a dismayed sound from the entry to the training arena, and suddenly gentle hands were examining him. No fear of them, Sideswipe thought, no fear of them at all, looking up in mild bemusement at First Aid, who quickly determining that all of Sideswipe’s injuries were superficial had now turned to Sunstreaker. Going in where even Prowl, or Ironhide, or even Ratchet might fear to tread, First Aid had one hand on Sunstreaker’s chin, lightly tilting it up so he could get a better look at the deep gouges in Sunstreaker’s neck.

First Aid’s optic ridges were drawn hard together; his visor flared brightly as he turned to look at Sideswipe with something like shock in his expression. The little medic abruptly sat down on the training arena floor with a clunk. The twins looked at him in alarm as First Aid bent his head over and rested it on his knees.

“Aid…?” Sideswipe said hesitantly.

“I’m ok,” Aid replied, voice muffled.

“You don’t look ok,” Sideswipe said nervously, wondering if First Aid’s injuries were acting up and debating whether to call Ratchet, and face the consequences. Or maybe he was overwhelmed by Sunstreaker’s injuries…Sideswipe glanced at his brother in sudden worry, but Sunstreaker looked hale enough. Like slag, of course, but otherwise ok. And First Aid wasn’t exactly the type to get queasy at a little spilled energon.

First Aid mumbled something.

“What was that?” Sideswipe asked.

“You did this to each other.” First Aid looked up and sighed.

Sideswipe scratched at his helm, looking over at Sunstreaker, who shrugged. “Oh well, yeah, kinda.”

First Aid rubbed his hands over his face a few times and pulled himself up, returning to his perusal of Sunstreaker’s neck. 

“I’m sorry, it just took me by surprise,” he said, transforming one finger into a delicate-looking tool, as he began cleaning and sealing up the injury.

“It bothers you that much?” Sideswipe asked, surprised it would affect him so strongly. He and Sunstreaker fought and wrestled all the time, although usually not _this_ violently, and First Aid hadn’t been bothered by it before.

First Aid nodded, not turning from his work. “You came within a microspan of slicing open Sunstreaker’s primary energon feed to his processor.”

Sideswipe widened his optics at that. “Oh. Sorry bro.”

Sunstreaker shrugged one shoulder cautiously. “You were upset.”

“The Aerialbots get in fights sometimes,” First Aid said softly, “but you two have them beat, I think. There,” he added running another tool up Sunstreaker’s throatplate. “Try not to move your head around too much for the next breem or so while that seals up.”

He made short work of Sunstreaker’s other dents and injuries, and then turned to Sideswipe.

“Hey,” Sideswipe said, as First Aid started cleaning the gouge marks on his helm, his hands moving with quiet and steady confidence, no different now than they were in the middle of a raging battle. “Sorry. Sorry if we upset you. And made you come all the way out here. It was stupid.”

First Aid twinkled his visor at him, and from the shape of his optics Sideswipe thought he might be smiling, although his face mask was up so he couldn’t be sure. “It’s ok, Sideswipe, I’ll live,” First Aid patted him on the shoulder. “This is what I’m here for, you know. I was built for this, repairing. Even stupid injuries. It makes me happy to do it. Are you feeling better now? Sunstreaker said you were upset…”

Sideswipe ducked his head evasively. To his horror he felt a wave of emotion rising through him again--he couldn’t push it down--making his vocalizer catch and his intakes falter. Slag, what was wrong with him? But he couldn’t stop the spark-breaking image of that lost, laughing Sunstreaker, lost Sideswipe, whoever he had been. First Aid made a sad sympathetic noise, and at the sound Sideswipe curled up tighter and began sobbing in earnest. He felt arms around him, First Aid, and he let himself uncurl and pressed his helm into the medic’s shoulder as he wept. First Aid’s arms weren’t quite long enough to go all the way around him, but he felt one gently rubbing on the edge of his back. In circles, of course. Sideswipe gave a choked laugh. Sunstreaker was rubbing hesitantly on the other side of his back.

//I’ve gone insane, bro. It’s official// he sent.

//Welcome to the club// Sunstreaker thought back at him, his mental tone wry, worried, but…tender, Sideswipe would have said, except that Sunstreaker was never tender, no more than he ever laughed. He’d been protecting Sideswipe from the dark places, keeping him sane, Sideswipe realized now. At what cost, Sideswipe didn’t know. He’d been hiding things from him, and still was. Sideswipe wanted to be angry at him for it, but he was too tired to summon the energy, and a little afraid, remembering what he had done earlier.

First Aid rubbed his back a final time as Sideswipe quieted, and then calmly resumed his repairs, as if nothing had happened. He pulled out another visor from one of his storage compartments and began fitting it to Sideswipe’s helm, after using a soft absorbent bit of something to matter-of-factly wipe away the optic fluid that had leaked all over his face.

“All right,” he said, making one final adjustment to the visor. “That should do it. How does that feel?”

Sideswipe nodded, feeling at the visor. “Good.”

Sunstreaker shifted behind him. “We should get going if we’re going to get cleaned up first, or we’ll be late.”

“Do you want me to tell Ironhide you’re on medical leave for the next shift?” First Aid asked quietly.

Sideswipe shook his head. He felt exhausted, but he didn’t want to recharge. At least they were both scheduled to help with hull inspections, something relatively mindless but active enough to keep him awake. 

“All right then.” First Aid didn’t argue, brushing a hand across Sideswipe’s shoulder in a comforting gesture but otherwise not pressing him about his outburst, for which Sideswipe was grateful.. “Try to take it easy if you can, both of you.”

Sideswipe surveyed his brother critically. They both looked battered, but no worse than after some of their other sparring sessions, so they hopefully shouldn’t excite too many questions.

First Aid gave them a last look over, lingering a little as if worried they might start pounding one another again, but at last he turned to go, heading slowly back to medbay. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe left a few kliks later, Sideswipe turning left, intending to go to the washracks, but Sunstreaker turned the other way.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Sideswipe asked. Sunstreaker shrugged and continued walking. Sideswipe changed course and followed behind him.

“We’re going to be late you know,” he warned.

“ _I’m_ going to be late, fraghead. Go to the washracks.” Sideswipe ignored him. Sunstreaker slowed his pace as First Aid came in view, making his careful way down the corridor.

//You’re following him to make sure he gets back all right// Sideswipe said, grinning at the back of his brother’s helm. Sunstreaker didn’t answer. Sideswipe wasn’t sure why this discovery should make him so delighted, but it did. //You’re totally soft on him, aren’t you?// he teased.

//I bet I could melt your frame down in the waste disposal unit. No one would ever find it// Sunstreaker sent, but there was no heat behind the thought. Sideswipe chortled silently.

First Aid had paused to rest and was leaning one hand against the wall, not seeming to notice the two following him. They watched while Pipes walked by, with a friendly wave at Aid and something about being happy to see him up and about, and then an uneasy glance at the two twins, apparently stalking behind him in the corridor. Sunstreaker looked back expressionlessly, Sideswipe grinned his best I-eat-minibots-for-snacks grin and Pipes averted his gaze, walking past them quickly. Ha, he still had it. Pipes generally steered clear of them both, and they returned the favor, but Sideswipe still hadn’t entirely forgiven him for protesting their inclusion on the Ark mission early on. First Aid was still resting, apparently, and Sideswipe shifted. They were definitely late.

//Since when have you been so worried about late? Go ahead. Tell Ironhide I’m still in the washracks polishing or something. He’ll believe it// Sunstreaker really _did_ want to get to the washracks. Sideswipe could sense the scuff marks on his armor were driving him nuts, but he was bound and determined to be sure First Aid got back to the medbay ok.

“Ahem,” came the sound of someone clearing their vocalizer behind them. They turned to find Ultra Magnus looking at them sternly.

“Weren’t you two supposed to be on duty a breem ago?” The commander’s optics flashed, no doubt taking in their slightly battered appearance, and the traces of energon still staining their armor.

“Uh…” Sideswipe scrambled for a convincing story.

“And what’s this I hear about you sneaking around after First Aid?” 

Sunstreaker just gazed back at Ultra Magnus, impassive, though Sideswipe could feel the familiar boil of his anger, never far from the surface, but under control. It was a lot better than it had been, before they’d come to the Autobots. There had been times when Sideswipe had been afraid, not of his brother, never, but for him, but he was different now. Sideswipe suppressed the urge to say something flippant or mocking. Ultra Magnus had always been fair to them, and he was only looking out for First Aid after all. Sideswipe couldn’t fault him for that.

“We’d never do anything that would hurt First Aid,” Sideswipe said, meeting Ultra Magnus’s gaze squarely. “Not on purpose anyway,” Sideswipe added, with a slight wince, opting for total honesty. Waking First Aid up and having him walk all the way to the training arena and back might not have been the best idea, in retrospect.

Ultra Magnus eyed the freshly welded gouges on Sideswipe’s arms doubtfully. Sunstreaker shifted suddenly, looking over Sideswipe’s shoulder. Up ahead First Aid had finally moved away from the wall to continue his walk, but he was moving slower than before.

Ultra Magnus followed Sunstreaker’s gaze. “Ah,” he murmured, looking from First Aid’s halting progress to the twins’ worried expressions, and lifting an optic ridge. “I think I see. I’ll let Ironhide know you two are running late.” Sideswipe, deciding he might as well roll with it, since there was really no point in denying it, flashed Ultra Magnus his best cheeky grin. Sunstreaker was already moving past them as First Aid turned the corner out of sight.

“Thank you, sir,” Sideswipe said. “You’re not such a bad sort, you know.”

Ultra Magnus frowned down at him. ”Carry on, soldier.”

Sideswipe gave him a carefully regulation salute (no sense pushing Magnus’s buttons _too_ far, after all, tempting as it was) and hurried after his brother. They saw First Aid safely to the medbay, with the medic none the wiser, and reported for duty. Ironhide made no comment on their appearance, and they spent the next duty cycle banging on all the rivets on the Ark’s hull. Sunstreaker’s mind was strangely quiet as they worked. Sideswipe was grateful, although normally he depended on Sunstreaker to keep him from boredom. His own processor was in a haze, a comfortable place without thought, leaving just enough attention to the job as he worked between his brother and Ironhide, under the clear bright stars of whatever system they were passing through.

They went to the washracks afterward, the warm cleanser relaxing as it beat down on their plating. Sideswipe helped Sunstreaker repaint and polish up his finish. The color nanites would recolonize on their own, but it bothered both of them to see the gray metal exposed.

“I remember,” Sunstreaker said, out of the blue, rubbing one finger obsessively over a small dent on his forearm that hadn’t quite smoothed out yet.

“What?”

“I remember now. What it was I made.” Sunstreaker stopped rubbing his finish and folded his hands together in an odd gesture, looking down at them as if they belonged to someone else.

//Show me// Sideswipe said, knowing somehow, what he would see even before Sunstreaker did so. He remembered too.

//Oh Primus, Sunny// A bright dance of color and form bloomed through both their minds. Sunstreaker was shivering. They sat together, back to back on the floor of the washracks as they had guarded one another through all the times of darkness.

//Primus, Sunny, you were amazing// Sideswipe laughed in wonder. Sunstreaker shivered harder, wrapping his arms around his knees tightly. //Do you think I could do that, too?//

Sunstreaker snorted suddenly in surprise, startled out of his shock. //You were hopeless bro. Couldn’t draw a four dimensional hypersphere if your life depended on it// Sideswipe chuckled, not surprised. It was ok. Part of his processor knew how much work it was, making something like that. More fun to just watch.

//Can you still…// Sideswipe sent, tentative. Sunstreaker was silent, the shivering coming in waves now. He rested his head on his knees and sighed.

“That Sunstreaker is gone, Sides,” he said softly.

“No, he’s not,” Sideswipe replied stubbornly. Sunstreaker’s mind gave him a picture, battle scarred hands stained with energon, not paint, crushing sparks beneath his fingers. Some had deserved that death, many had not.

//That Sunstreaker would have been sorry, Sideswipe. I’m not sorry. I should feel something when I deactivate a spark, but I don’t//

Sideswipe didn’t feel bad at all, deactivating Decepticons, but he had friends now, in the Autobots. And even the annoying Autobots he’d feel bad about deactivating. Sunstreaker would, too. He had a spark under there; he wasn’t a monster.

//What if it were me, that you deactivated?// Sideswipe asked him.

//Wouldn’t matter, I’d keel over too// That was a matter of fact, one they knew. They had come close to deactivating one another, in those moments of madness, Sunny those vorns ago when Sideswipe had first found him again, Sideswipe only a few joors ago. Sideswipe found he wasn’t particularly worried about it, though he found himself remembering First Aid, so upset over the thought of them seriously hurting one another.

//What about First Aid?// he sent to Sunstreaker, teasing. //Wouldn’t want to deactivate your favorite little med-bot, now, would you?//

Sunstreaker thought-flashed on an image of First Aid, spark flickering beneath his hands into non-existence, the blue light of his optics behind his visor going dark, but his face still wearing that little smile, unafraid. Sunstreaker’s vents faltered suddenly and he curled in on himself. //I would feel bad. Oh Primus, Sides…I _would_ //

A massive wave of elation and pain hit Sideswipe from his brother. He gasped, unprepared for the onslaught.

//I would feel bad// Sunstreaker gulped a sob. Sideswipe blinked in shock. //I would feel bad, Sides, I would// Sunstreaker’s thoughts babbled over and over, an overwhelming sense of relief flooding the bond, he was not a monster, he could feel…

//Of course you would, Sunny, of course you would// Sideswipe tried to reassure his brother, clinging precariously to his own self control. //You’re NOT a monster// he sent firmly. Sunstreaker sobbed again.

//What about Ratchet? Would you feel bad if you killed Ratchet?// Sunstreaker froze for a moment, imagining it, then sob-laughed.

“I’d feel terrible, Sideswipe.” He was giggling half hysterically. “Oh Primus, I’d probably deactivate myself.” Sideswipe was giggling along with Sunstreaker, carried along by his brother’s emotions.

“That’s great, Sunny!” he managed to gasp out, between spasms of hilarity. He scooted around so he could see Sunstreaker, huddling up close to his brother, pressing their helms together. Vulnerable, they were vulnerable like this facing inward, backs to the world where anyone could sneak up on them, but that was ok here. No one was going to hurt them here.

//What about Prime?//

Sunstreaker’s optics widened and he nodded against Sideswipe’s helm. //Really bad//

//Jazz?//

Sunstreaker nodded again.

//Even that slagger Pipes// Sunstreaker sent, deep sobs shaking him now. //I’d even feel bad about that slagger Pipes, if I killed him. I didn’t know it until now, Sides, I really didn’t…but I would, I would feel bad if I killed him//

Together they killed off the entire Autobot army, and a few of the Decepticons too, and wept for them, and laughed, and at last fell into recharge there, on the floor, in the washracks where anyone could have deactivated them and they recharged deep and peaceful pressed close together, the way their processors never remembered doing, but they must have, once upon a time, because how else would Sunstreaker have known how to rest his hands on either side of Sideswipe’s helm and press the their forehead plates close together? How else would Sideswipe have known how to cradle Sunstreaker in his arms just so? Together they dreamed bright color, deep beauty, a simple line curving, touching the stars to become their entwined sparks.


End file.
